


You Say 'Jump'

by AStateOfMindOverMatter



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: (All we know is that they were legion-alligned so far), (we dont really see the courier tho), Caesar's Legion, Courier dies at hoover dam, Descriptions of Injury, Enemies to Lovers, Im not a doctor though so be warned, Injury Recovery, M/M, Original characters are all minor appearances, Slavery, Slow Burn, but arcade certainly is NOT a fan of vulpes to start off, legion wins ending, not that arcade and vulpes are enemies per se, tags will update, they gonna work through it together lads
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:40:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 56,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23383924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AStateOfMindOverMatter/pseuds/AStateOfMindOverMatter
Summary: The Legion's win over Hoover Dam was monumental for many people, in many different ways. For Arcade Gannon, all it meant was that he'd likely be stuck with the megalomaniac warlord of the Legion for the rest of his life, slowly being driven closer and closer to the edge with each passing day.That is, until he gets an unwelcome reprieve in the form of one incredibly injured Vulpes Inculta.
Relationships: Arcade Gannon/Vulpes Inculta
Comments: 120
Kudos: 125





	1. Well Ain't That a Kick in the Head

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so I posted this first chapter to try and motivate myself into writing more of it, because I like what I've done so far and want to keep it going. Let me know what you guys think of it in the comments!  
> By the way, if you're unfamiliar what phrase the title Is referring to, the full saying is: You say 'jump', I say 'how high'

Months upon months of planning had gone into the idea of an independent New Vegas. Minutes upon hours upon _days_ of his time spent pouring over details, over bits and pieces of the puzzle that would need to fit together to make the whole dream work. It felt like he’d spent an endless amount of time confiding in the Courier, going back and forth with doting heart-to-hearts and teasing inside jokes that Arcade had never been able to _have_ with another person before. Both of them had been no stranger to talking about the things they wanted to do with their lives, conceivable and lofty alike, and quite often would late night conversations end in soft whispers of _'We could really do this, together.'_ that had left Arcade's stomach fluttering on more than one occasion.

It had never felt like _daydreams_ with the Courier-- it _felt_ like the both of them had real, actual _plans_ they were building on. Real time spent on projects, on experiments, on figuring out how they would pull it all off... Nearly a year ago Arcade could actually imagine that future becoming a reality, _so_ _close_ he could almost touch it. If he only _reached,_ he might have been able to brush his fingers against it, that great beacon of _hope._

And yet.

And _yet_ , it's all amounted to _this_ , Arcade bitterly thinks. Betrayal has never sung a song so bittersweet as when those plans were dashed across the sand like specs of blood, looming with the same weight as that heavy, metal bomb collar strapped around his neck. 

Sold. To the _Legion_. 

Even now, nearly a year later Arcade still feels bile rise sour in the back of his throat at the memory. It’s been a long time since the Courier died at the battle for Hoover Dam, and an even longer time since Arcade felt even a shred of remorse for that thought. The morphed, twisted version of himself left in the aftermath only wishes it would have all meant _something_ in the end, and yet the only thing he’s learned is how to play _nice_ with a life he has no will to keep. 

_Oh, the joys of war._ He supposes. 

\---

The Legion didn’t just _beat_ the NCR at the Dam, they _crushed_ them, completely, and irreversibly so. Now Caesar had more than just the Dam, he had _Vegas--_ hell, the whole damn _Mojave_ in the _palm of his hand--_ and it's been that way for nearly half a year, now. 

Yes, truly, Arcade was living in the lap of luxury alongside his _generous_ master, roaming the old familiar walls of the Lucky 38’s penthouse with too many memories, and even more pain at the sight of it. Though, for all that's stayed the same, it’s hardly even recognizable anymore. 

Caesar, egotistical as he is, had made the decision to make a throne out of his old adversaries grave-- this one out of _many_ \-- and with it gave the entire building a makeover as he saw fit. The irony of how Caesar only considers this building the grave of Mr. House is not lost on him, but for Arcade, it still represents the death of much, _much_ more than that.

  
Now, he finds himself idling around the suite alone. Spending his time recalling all the minute details and other things that have changed with time and work-- albeit not on _his_ part, because of _course_ Lord Caesar’s dear physician is _too delicate_ for such things like physical labor, right? 

Not that he’s _complaining_ , per se. After all, he supposes it must be better to be treated delicately than it is to be treated like some kind of pack brahmin; Even if they'd enlisted his help at the time, he doubts he would've been willing to put any effort in. Why would he _ever_ want to put the work into renovating when every single room he walks into dregs up old memories he'd rather forget? He can just imagine being down on his knees with the other workers, tearing up carpet to be replaced until his hands were raw and bleeding. He'd probably still be picking dirt and paint out from under his fingernails months after the fact-- he can only imagine how tedious it must have been for the people tasked with doing so, cleaning and treating the place from head to toe...

 _At least they got rid of that gross wallpaper._ He muses quietly.   
  


It’s midday by now, and the relative humidity inside the suite makes the leather collar around his throat even more uncomfortable than it usually is. Though he’s more than used to its presence by now, he still reaches up to pry his fingers under the material, hoping to air out some of the dampness underneath that’s making his skin itch. 

It’s been a while since the bomb collar was changed out for something less armored, and arguably more fashionable instead-- and of course Caesar had made a spectacle of the whole thing, at the time. Arcade remembers, back before the Legion had even won the Dam the older man had called him to his side. He’d dragged the heels of his feet for the short walk there before a Legionary had come up behind him, held either one of his arms as he was ushered to his knees before the tyrant, and the constricting metal was finally removed. His heart may as well have been encased in ice, the moment he felt hands tampering around the looming threat strapped to his throat-- and Arcade remembers having nearly choked throughout the process, only being allowed to reach up and touch the irritated skin for the first time in _months,_ before Caesar had presented him with an alternative. 

He’d stared at the leather collar in Caesar’s hands for several moments, the tyrant couldn’t possibly have been patient enough to wait longer than that before he’d tipped Arcade’s chin up to face him. He’d stared into those hooded eyes as the leather was looped around his throat, skin burning as Caesar dismissed the Legionary at his back. He’d wanted to put it on Arcade _himself._

It had stung at the time, thinking the old warlord had deemed him ‘docile’ enough to do without the constant threat on his life-- it still stings to even _think_ about, actually-- but as much as it had wounded his pride, he knew Caesar was right. What was the point of trying to run from it? Caesar ruled over the Mojave with power unmatched, even _before_ the Dam was won, Arcade knew there was little hope of escaping. The only thing that was different _after_ their victory is the fact there was nowhere _to_ run, anymore, and even that was only a piece of the problem.

Though, a small, far away part of him scoffs at that thought-- the same idealistic part of him that had slowly begun to shrivel up with time, the same part that used to be a strong-willed, optimistic Follower of the Apocalypse, the same part that had survived hell and back just trying to do _some_ good in a world that wanted to kill him-- That part of him sticks his nose up at the thought of there being nowhere left-- there was _always_ somewhere left. Even in the darkest, most hopeless of times, people have prevailed. If not from sheer luck, then by _tenacity._

Arcade pinches the bridge of his nose in exasperation then, fervently stamping out that shred of hope as soon as it's ignited. _Yeah, right. As if_. 

  
There's a sound of faint shuffling across the way that pulls him out of his thoughts, deep and bottomless as they are, and he glances towards the sound out of habit. Of course, Arcade is only Caesar’s _physician._ He isn’t considered one of the ones meant to ‘keep house’ for the tyrant, given that his bedside manner was atrocious enough as is. Caesar would have any number of slaves in the suite at one time, cooking, or cleaning, or running errands for him... 

Arcade runs a hand through his hair at the thought, turning to head away from the noise when he realizes he doesn’t quite have the stomach to talk to whoever he hears moving about, now. Even though he knows he's among them, also a slave like the rest, the guilt of having it _easier_ than the lot of them is still a hard pill to swallow-- and he _does_ have it easier, at least in a physical sense. 

He's a personal favorite of Caesar's-- and by default, that means no one can touch him unless permitted otherwise, unless it was Caesar himself. That's _leagues_ more respect than almost any of the other slaves receive, and yet he can't even bring himself to be _thankful_ for it.

  
But, why _should_ he be thankful? He’s still a slave at the end of the day. That’s not something that can just magically be erased, or made up for, regardless of how respected, or untouchable he is. He doesn’t even count as being his own person anymore, so why should he _ever_ be thankful to _Caesar?_  
  
Arcade lets out a hard breath at that thought, shaking his head as he disappears back into the empty living room of the Lucky 38. 

Throughout most of his days, Arcade will often pass the time by reading. Then more reading, and even more after that-- and then perhaps he’ll treat himself with a little existential dread, between the times he's not eating or sleeping as well. Then it’s just rinse and repeat.

Caesar has his own daily rituals too-- albeit much less depressing than Arcade's-- and usually he will leave the doctor alone outside of requiring the occasional conversation out of him, provided he seems to think Arcade is actually a _companion_ of his, and not someone who fully despises him in every way. Then again, Arcade supposes that could possibly be his own fault.

It's been a while since he spit in the other man's face, after all. 

Actually, he probably hasn't since the first time he found out he was sold. Perhaps Caesar thought he’d grown soft. He wouldn’t be surprised if the man's _enormous_ ego has made him think that Arcade actually _enjoys_ their conversations together, though that thought is almost laughable. 

Caesar can think whatever he wants, but the idea of Arcade actually being his _friend_ is pure delusion. Nothing more. _  
  
_

Though they both have their own daily rituals, there are other times when said rituals are not followed, all the same. There are days when Caesar will bid Arcade to keep him company for the day and, true to the man's word, they might take a walk outside, enjoy the sights of the reformed Strip, or they might eat together at the Ultra-Luxe, or they might do any number of activities that Caesar has thought to try with him. Some days the older man might even just lounge in the living room of the Lucky 38, and have Arcade sit and chat with him over a cup of tea. Arcade tolerates it with a clinical sort of indifference, for the most part. He doesn’t mind the fresh air, or the good food, and most of the time he doesn’t even hate the other oddities Caesar might come up with for the two of them. Even just sitting and _talking_ to the man isn't so horrible most of the time, irritating as it _could_ get. But no, those are all perfectly tolerable for him, if not a bit indulgent on Caesar’s part. 

It’s more the fact that, over the last year or so Arcade has learned one thing about the man that he can’t be so indifferent to. Something _not_ so tolerable, that makes his teeth grind behind thinly-pressed lips whenever he happens to catch a glimpse of it.  
  


Caesar is a lonely man without someone there to challenge him.  
  


It’s ridiculous, utterly, _utterly_ ridiculous. The man has everything he wanted and more, and yet he’s _lonely at the top._ Even now Arcade’s lip curls in disgust at the thought. How selfish-- how _self-serving_ can one man be? He has people falling over themselves to please him, and yet he prefers to take his _physician_ to lunch over someone that might give him an easier time. 

Arcade can see it in flashes, in little looks out of the corner of his eyes on the occasion he's been forced to spend too much time with the man. Times when Caesar's usual teasing and condescending tone falls away to something else entirely, and he regards Arcade as though he were a real friend. It makes him want to tear his hair out every single time it happens, and more often than not Arcade will rely on his wit, and sarcasm to bring the man back to reality. It's not something that happens regularly, but the frequency that it _does_ happen only continues to increase. Even now, Arcade wishes he could simply grab the other man and shake some sense into him, tell him _'We are not friends!'_ until he gets it through that thick skull of his that Arcade _hates him._ In all honesty, the only reason he _hasn't_ done that is because he knows he'd probably get away with it, and that thought is more depressing than the thought of getting _punished_ for it, instead.

But, it's the truth, though. The amount of things that Arcade is able to merely _get away_ with-- if only for the sole fact that Caesar finds it _entertaining--_ is astounding. He doesn’t care if Arcade mouths off, he doesn’t even care when Arcade _mocks_ him. Instead he finds amusement in the jabs, rather than irritation; as if they were just barbs passed between coworkers for a laugh, instead of the bitter, hateful sentiments Arcade means them to be. 

At some point, he has to wonder if this will just be the rest of his life. Trapped in a purgatory of dissatisfaction and resentment, stuck to Caesar’s side like the pet he is without a way to free himself. Not all days are _awful,_ but how much of that is because of his own docility? How much has he given up already, to be herded around like a favored animal with only the barest of resistance? He doesn't _feel_ like Arcade Gannon anymore, hell, he barely feels like a _person_ anymore, and he's treated like even less. 

In his nightmares he sees a different setting-- a different version of himself, unbound by any collar or restraints, and yet _willingly_ sitting at Caesar’s side. There’s an acute terror that comes with realizing you’re getting used to the horrors around you, and Arcade can think of nothing more hellish than a future where he _wants_ to be right where he is. Yet, the only thing he can do is pray that day never comes. 

It’s a vicious cycle, but eventually, _eventually,_ _something_ has to give.

\---

It’s a cloudy, wind-chilled day when Arcade elects to spend his time reading by one of the windows, halfway curled up in a comfortable armchair directly in the line of pale light as he leafs through the pages of his book. Despite the focused expression on his face, his attention is split down the middle while his eyes only glance over the words in front of him, not fully paying attention to what he's reading, as he often does when halfway to daydreaming. Instead he finds himself pondering the decision to fix himself a drink, wondering if the older woman he'd seen in the kitchen earlier might be kind enough to let him make some tea. 

Distantly, he glances up from his book at the sound of the elevator dinging from the other room. It’s a strange noise, considering that it can't have been more than an hour since Caesar left. Though, the sound of rushed, thudding footsteps make it apparent it’s not the older man returning. 

The door to the living room slams open just as Arcade sets his book down, and the abrupt sound of it sends him sprawling back into his chair as he grips the armrests for stability, eyes flying to the door in shock. He feels his heart lodge up into his throat when he sees Lucius is there, hands gripping the door frame as his pale eyes zero in on Arcade. _Oh, not good._ _  
  
_

“Doctor,” Arcade’s heart races at his breathless voice, “Come with me _at once.”_ Lucius demands, tone clipped and tight as Arcade struggles to recover from his surprise. _Definitely not good._

He bolts up to his feet in seconds, shaking his head to clear it as he briskly walks towards the other man. Whatever is going on, he knows he’ll have plenty of time to ask on the way to-- to _wherever_ they’re going. 

Lucius reaches out to grasp his arm the moment he’s close enough, and Arcade feels a burst of adrenaline in the pit of his stomach upon feeling the tight, firm hold. He adjusts his glasses with his free hand as he’s all but dragged into the elevator, trying to rationalize the situation while he's being herded along. Something must be going on with Caesar for them to come straight to _him,_ and that thought sends an unwelcome swell of terror flooding through his chest. 

“What’s happened?” Arcade asks the instant the elevator doors shut after them, unable to handle the intense silence for the mere seconds it had lasted. “Has he fainted? Had another seizure?” He continues, willing himself to recount all the possible symptoms that might cause such a panic-- especially a panic big enough for _Lucius_ to be retrieving him, of all people. Surely it can't be something small, although he must admit that, while he knew the possibility of another tumor was not a _long shot,_ it still didn’t prepare him for the thought that it might really be happening, alongside all the other types of illnesses Caesar might be more vulnerable to in his old age. Arcade wonders if it could even _be_ head troubles, or if it’s something else entirely. It could take him days to even _list_ all the possible things an older man like Caesar could be susceptible to, let alone _diagnose._

Lucius's voice abruptly cuts through the dense bubble of his thoughts, and his fear is stunted a little when the older man speaks again.

“It’s not Caesar.” He says, still sounding urgent, yet unwavering despite that. Arcade has to take a moment to reel himself back in as his eyes blow wide, and the urge to shout at the other man becomes _much_ more tempting than before. 

“ _What?_ ” He demands then, leaning in closer to Lucius' face as anger begins to bubble under the surface, “It’s not-- then what the hell _is_ it about?!” He asks, and all the frustration in his tone begins bleeding into his anxiety, forming an unpleasant knot in his stomach. Caesar's life is, essentially, Arcade's responsibility. If anything were to happen to him then Arcade would have the threat of the _entire_ _Legion_ bearing down on his shoulders, reminding him that his death will be a long, excruciating experience, should he fail to save the tyrant's life. It's the same weight he'd felt on him in the days leading up to Caesar's brain surgery all those months back, and it wasn't a weight Arcade was inclined to take _lightly,_ either. The fact he even felt for a _moment_ that something might be wrong with the warlord was enough to have him stress-clenching his teeth, and preparing for certain doom. 

This is obviously not a fact Lucius is aware of, either that, or he just plain doesn’t care-- because the older man only growls quietly beside him, clearly aggravated with his attitude despite it being _entirely_ called for. 

“He’s asked for you _at once,_ Doctor. _Mind your tongue_.” He says, just barely refraining from speaking through gritted teeth.

“Ah yes, because that tells me _anything_ I need to know--” The elevator doors slide open, and then Lucius is dragging him out of the elevator in much the same fashion he’d been dragged in. "Sure, sure, okay. _I get it,_ but did you really have to make me think the man was dying a _second_ time?" He gasps out thereafter, stumbling after Lucius as he's hauled along. 

Lucius doesn’t answer him as they leave the Lucky 38, but Arcade quickly realizes they’re moving towards the newly founded clinic near the entrance to The Strip. By the time he catches up enough with Lucius' brisk pace to walk, rather than stumble along beside him, he's already come up with a dozen more questions begging to be answered.  
  


Namely, why the _hell_ Caesar needs him so desperately if it’s not even _about_ him.  
  


Of all the things that have changed and shifted during his time trapped in the Legion, it was an unwavering, unquestionable fact that Arcade was _Caesar’s_ doctor. Never once has he been appointed to someone else, never once has he ever had to _worry_ about anyone else, outside of passing, rare moments where he was used as a reward. He’s patched up his fair share of legionaries for one reason or another. It was no secret to Arcade that his medical prowess was highly valued. 

But, that didn’t change the fact that Caesar has never called upon him like _this,_ before. 'This' of course being what feels like a _blind panic._

And for the most part Arcade is right, because it _is_ , in fact, a _panic._

Inside of the clinic is loud, a mess of different ranking Legion soldiers with varying degrees of injury as they chat and holler amongst themselves, as well as the flustered nurses and doctors moving in a frenzy from person to person. The smell of blood and smoke is thick in the air, and the loud bustling sound of talking, and the frantic shifting of bodies threatens to give him a headache for the second he’s exposed to it. Arcade breathes in deeply through his mouth to avoid the stench of blood, feeling his face flush from the heat as he wills his nerves to calm while Lucius pulls him along, past the common room, and into one of the further back waiting rooms typically used for more extreme cases, or individuals in need of isolating. _Just keeps getting worse, doesn’t it?_

It’s a testament to his own will that he doesn’t immediately snap when he sees Caesar is there waiting for him, nerves feeling as brittle as a twig now that he’s been snapped at, and quite literally _dragged_ here. Though, perhaps it’s for the best that he bites his tongue now-- Caesar looks flushed, borderline panicked in a way Arcade has never seen before. His heart threatens to speed in his chest once Arcade realizes it, wondering if _he_ should be panicked too, by extension-- technically he already is, having been frazzled by his own anxiety on the way here, yet this seems to be much more at work than just _worry,_ on Caesar's part. 

Though, the moment he lays eyes on Arcade he lets out a sigh of relief, and Lucius finally releases the death grip on his arm as his Lord draws closer to the both of them. 

“Arcade,” He begins, tone low and serious in a way that spells _‘bad times ahead’_ in big, bold letters, “ Listen to me _very_ carefully. Vulpes Inculta is on the other side of that door, and he’s injured. Badly.” He gestures towards the door behind him, his words nearly flying past Arcade faster than he can understand them. His mind pushes everything else out of the way in an instant, instead clinging on to that familiar name as he feels shock flooding into his system. “I need you to go in there, and make sure he _does not die._ ” Caesar stresses, continuing right along as if Arcade mouth wasn’t already agape. The tyrant only stares into his eyes, and Arcade forces himself to swallow the lump rapidly forming in his throat. He’s disturbed and conflicted at the ringing sound of that name, so clear to him despite his flustered nerves. 

“I-- Wh-What?” He stammers, and then the hard line of Caesar’s lips forces him to straighten up. “How bad is it?” He quickly asks instead, even as his mind continues to repeat the name _Vulpes Inculta_ , over and over again as if to taunt him with a memory-- no, actually, taunting him with _several._

Caesar seems to only grow _more_ agitated with his question, letting out a huff of air, “Do you think he gave me a fucking _report_ on what happened to him, Doctor?" He snaps immediately, and Arcade flinches hard enough to send his glasses askew while the other man continues. "Why don’t you go in there and _look for yourself_ before I put your head on a fucking _pike.”_ Arcade clears his throat, shakily reaching up to fix his glasses at the sharp threat. Caesar backs off just as quick as he’d snapped, though, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Sorry. Just-- Just go in there and do your part, see to it that he _lives,_ Arcade.” He amends, significantly more mild, and more worn down than before. Arcade is loath to accept the apology, but he nods regardless, too shaken to do anything else.

He doesn’t wait for the tyrant to snap again, though. He doesn’t ask why it’s suddenly _his_ job to save the man's life, like he wants to, either. Instead, he just moves past him, and pushes open the door separating him from his new patient. 

\---

Right off the bat, it doesn’t look good. 

It’s Vulpes Inculta, for certain. Laid up in bed connected to two separate IV’s as his heartbeat wavers on the monitor, the unsettling rhythm of his heart spurring Arcade into moving closer despite the ice that spills down his spine at the sight. He's certainly not _happy_ to see the other man again, but now isn't really the time for introspection-- Caesar seems very, _very_ adamant that Vulpes requires his attention first and foremost, and from what he can already see now, the older man had been right.

Before he does anything, he tears a pair of gloves out of the box mounted on the wall and slips them onto his hands, observing the man’s face while he moves on autopilot. His left eye is blackened in a bruise that trails all the way down to his cheekbone, along with a deep scrape along his jaw, and chin that tells Arcade he must have hit the ground coming forward. Perhaps an attack from behind?

Despite the injuries, Arcade finds he's even more familiar to him up close. He hardly wants to believe this is the same man he and the Courier encountered together on the strip so long ago-- hardly wants to believe this is the same man he’d brazenly called by his true name all that time ago, back when the strip was still free. Arcade had thought it was safe to do so, but it had struck fear into his heart then, when Vulpes had actually _responded_ to it. 

_'That's Vulpes Inculta, one of the Legions most notorious spies...'_ He'd said to the Courier in that moment, loud enough for the other man to hear. He remembers it plain as day, the anxiety that gripped him when Vulpes had _turned around..._

He reaches out, dispelling the memory almost frantically as he pulls back the sheet covering the other man's body. He glances to the IV’s already going before beginning to survey the damage, trying to reach for his Follower’s indifference for who this man is, so he can find it in himself to treat him like he would any other. Even knowing the things Vulpes has done, he’s cured _Caesar himself_ before, despite his hatred. Though his hopes are low, he still tries to work as if he can save the man’s life, trying every trick in the book to forget just who he’s treating, even as the wavering beep of his vitals sings a siren song of failure.  
  


The more he examines, the more troubling it looks-- clear lacerations over the arms and legs, scrapes, and cuts, and bruises mottling pale skin... not to mention he’s got a few broken ribs from what Arcade can tell, but the most immediate threats are the bullet wounds he’s found. There’s one going through his calf-- not centered enough to hit bone, but also not far away enough to find an exit wound, either. There’s another one low along his side, too, right above his hip. Arcade will consider him _incredibly_ lucky if it's missed his kidney. 

_Fuck._ They wouldn't leave him to try and save his life _alone,_ would they? This is more than he can even _handle_ on his own-- if a person this bad off had been brought to the Followers they'd probably need a whole _team_ on board.

Arcade takes in a deep breath, trying to steady himself as he tries to think of what to do. Okay, first things first, he should worry about the most dangerous injury first-- that much was obvious. There’s a mobile tray of utensils already pulled up nearby, and he moves to grab the cart before wheeling it closer. He'll need to staunch the bleeding to the wound on Vulpes' hip before he does anything else-- the one on his calf doesn't have an exit wound to lose blood from as well, so if he doesn't do something about his hip first then he'll lose more blood faster than the IV can give it. He goes straight to disinfecting it, and preparing to bandage, since he's fairly certain the only bullet wound he needs to worry about an actual _bullet_ being inside of is the one on his calf.

He jolts as the door is thrust open again in the midst of his thoughts, and he whirls around only to sag in relief when he sees Siri is there, rushing to his side as she tears into a pair of gloves, herself. 

_Thank god._ _  
  
_

“Oh my _god,_ you have _no_ idea how happy I am to see you,” Arcade immediately gasps out, unwilling to admit that he’d possibly been on the brink of a small crisis, beforehand. Siri offers him a strained, understanding smile as she nods her agreement, circling around to the other side of the bed.

“Very sweet of you, Doctor, but mind explaining _what_ is going on?” She asks, sharp eyes already assessing as Arcade leaps into an explanation. 

\---

It’s around four hours later that they actually finish treating Vulpes, and half of it was spent with Arcade trying to convince himself to not have a breakdown-- The only time he’s been this stressed about a patient before was the time he was doing literal _brain surgery_ on Caesar himself-- and even then, Caesar hadn’t seemed _half_ as panicked about his own life as he had been for _Vulpes_ those few hours ago. 

But, regardless, they _did it,_ and now the other man is bandaged, still unconscious, but _alive._ Slowly regaining the proper amount of fluids he needs to stay afloat. His heartbeat is still somewhat irregular, but it’s close enough to normal that Arcade feels they’ve escaped the immediate threat of him dying. 

It’s only after some long winded reassurances from Siri that he trudges his way back into the waiting room, certain that she’d be alright on her own. Surprisingly enough, Lucius is still there when he steps through the door, the older man immediately standing from his seat to face him. 

“He is…” Lucius trails off, regarding Arcade warily.

“Alive.” He confirms, much to his own relief. “Siri is still in there, looking over his vitals. Where did Caesar go?” He asks next, glancing around the empty room as if to further his question. Not that he was _eager_ to see the man, of course-- He still figures he might like to know. 

“He returned to the Lucky 38. I advise you to do the same, so that you may share the good news with him,” Lucius says with a subtle nod, seeming relieved, just as Arcade had. He suppresses the urge to scoff at the information. Caesar _would_ just leave, expecting his orders to be unfailingly carried out regardless of whether or not he was there to personally ensure it. He doesn’t understand how the man could be so worried as to _threaten Arcade’s life,_ and yet not stick around to hear the results. Backwards logic at it’s finest. 

Although, Arcade actually prefers it this way, if he’s being honest. It's just that his bitter heart likes to dig at the older man every time the opportunity presents itself-- and Caesar _more_ than deserves it, for the stress he’s put him through today, and every day, for that matter. 

“Right.” He says, honestly too drained to even _pretend_ to be snarky with Lucius. So much pressure to perform couldn’t be good for his heart, he frankly decides as he makes his way past the other man, and through the rest of the clinic. Outside, the Strip is blissfully quiet in comparison, and the air is cool in the darkening evening in a way that Arcade savors throughout his short trip back. 

Eventually he finds himself riding the Lucky 38’s elevator back up to the penthouse suite, thankfully unaccompanied, and alone with his thoughts. 

He wonders, very plainly, what was so important about Vulpes Inculta. He knew the man was skilled, and dangerous, but Caesar had threatened Arcade’s _life_ for his brief hesitation, in the moment. Now, he considers the older man as the dramatic type, for sure, but that was _dramatic,_ even for Caesar. Arcade shakes his head, rubbing at his temples as the doors slide open with a metal ding. Of course, he remembers the man is the head of the Legion’s spies-- the head of the _Frumentarii--_ as they're called, but _still,_ He’s never seen Caesar personally care about _anyone's_ continued existence to that same degree, including his own.  
  


Vulpes must be _very_ valuable to him. 

He knows this, because Caesar only cares about people relative to their usefulness to him. Arcade knows this for a fact, both from experience, and just _seeing_ the way Caesar interacts with those beneath him. So, therefore, Vulpes _must_ be doing a lot for him, to be so important in the tyrant’s eyes. He can't think of any other reason the man might be so high-profile, so able to cause such a commotion...

Arcade adjusts his glasses again, pressing the back of his hand to his forehead to try and cool his heated skin. To think, he'd really just spent the last four hours working with Siri to save _Vulpes Inculta's_ life. Even in his year with the Legion, that phrase still sounds made up in his mind. His job as a doctor is to serve the people, to keep others healthy, and safe-- yet he still feels torn between his morality, and his oath. At what point does helping a person continue to live become a _disservice_ to the people? This would have to be the closest Arcade has come to it, aside from saving Caesar himself, of course.  
  


He remembers a time when Vulpes Inculta’s name was whispered in the streets; the few who knew of him were tight-lipped about the things they said, and others would take the scraps and run, spinning tall tales that Arcade hadn't _truly_ believed in until he'd met the Courier, and began to see them first hand. Even during his year with the Legion now, he's heard of only a few of the things Vulpes has done-- and has had the displeasure of seeing even fewer, himself.  
  


At what point does it become immoral to keep helping? At what point is the right, and _just_ answer to remove himself from the equation, rather than continue to serve?

Arcade imagines he already passed that line a long, _long_ time ago.  
  


But... _why._ Why does he still keep living on, even if it feels like he's doing the wrong thing? Maybe it's the naïve part of himself that wants to think there's a chance he'll escape the Legion, and go on to live a better life-- maybe it's the hope that he's preventing someone else from suffering in his place.  
  


Maybe, _maybe_ he just thinks he deserves it.  
  


Arcade steps out of the elevator a second after the doors slide open, letting them shut behind him as he stands in the entry room of the presidential suite, feeling more tired, and bitter than he’d like to admit in the midst of his success. 

“Oh, your _excellency?”_ He calls out, drawing out the title with as much sarcasm as he can fit into it. 

“Arcade?” A voice calls out from the living room in answer. The doctor takes that as his cue to push his way inside, pausing in the door frame when he sees Caesar sitting in the same chair near the window he’d been reading in only a few hours prior. He huffs a ragged sigh, then, rolling his eyes as he pushes further into the room. _Oh, sure, take that too,_ He thinks.

“He lives.” Arcade says without prompting, sounding about as happy as a Brahmin in a herd of Bighorners. Caesar, however, seems much better off with the news, closing his eyes in a small sigh of relief. 

“Excellent. I knew you wouldn’t let me down,” He hums the next moment, sounding every bit the prick that he is, in Arcade’s eyes. 

Arcade takes in a deep breath, and releases it in a sigh as he moves closer, sinking down into the couch by the time Caesar’s steady gaze is back on him. “...Want to tell me why I was made to play doctor for the last four hours, lest my head be-- ah, what was it, _'skewered on a pike'_?” He asks, paraphrasing the tyrants words from earlier with clear disdain. Caesar doesn’t seem bothered by the barb as much as he is amused, settling back against his chair and closing his eyes for the moment, contemplating his response. 

“...I know that you remember Vulpes,” He begins, and Arcade settles against the back of the couch to mirror his posture, eyes narrowing in distaste. 

“Yeah, you could say that,” He scoffs, listening to Caesar ‘tsk’ quietly from across the way. “Your _most loyal_ Frumentarii. I’m aware.” He continues, saying the words ‘most loyal’ as if they tasted foul. “But that doesn't change the fact that you’ve _never_ dragged me around like that-- not even when _Lucius’_ life was at stake, before. So I’m inclined to ask: _What gives?”_ He tilts his head enough to prop his cheek against his fist, and Caesar gives him a little smile-- one that tells Arcade he’s pleased with him, either for asking, or amusing him in some way. 

“True, Lucius is my guard, _and_ one of my war generals,” He tells the other man, sounding pleased beyond all belief when he continues, “But, _Vulpes..._ He's different from the others. He's our _wild-card._ Irreplaceable in terms of skill-- if he had died in that ambush, it would have been a heavy loss.” He admits, and Arcade pauses at that. Caesar's words make sense to him for the most part; There will always be another person strong enough to protect him, sure, but there are so few that are cunning, and independent among the rest like the head of the spies would be; yet he speaks about Vulpes as if he’s _bragging,_ as if he’d trained the man himself, like a prized dog, or something. Arcade doesn’t doubt Vulpes _is_ one, of course, but he still lets out a ragged huff of annoyance at that thought, tilting his head down as he eyes the tyrant from over the rim of his glasses. 

He finds his mind wandering to the _other_ part of what Caesar said then, despite himself. Specifically, the mention of an ambush being to blame for Vulpes' injuries. That would also explain the multitude of injured legionaries in the clinic, as well, but that also begs the question of just _who_ ambushed them, and why. It's nothing but Legion territory for miles, and _miles_ beyond New Vegas... Unless Vulpes had a task far away from here-- and Arcade _doubts_ he would have survived long enough to be brought all the way back to the Strip in that state, if he had been. But, _that_ would mean there's still resistance directed at the Legion's rule. That means there was at least _someone_ still out there capable of doing damage, if they'd managed to catch a group led by _Vulpes Inculta_ off guard... 

Arcade pushes down that small swell of hope before it can grow. He's getting too ahead of himself, and he knows it-- anyone with half a brain could lead an ambush, it might have just been a stroke of pure luck to have caught the lot of them so off guard. Or they might have been outnumbered-- hell, there’s any number of factors that could have contributed. 

“I… perhaps shouldn’t have threatened you so harshly," Caesar's voice drags him out of his distracted thoughts, and he looks over to the older man, again. "It was a moment of panic, and stress. Surely you understand, don’t you?” He asks next, and Arcade scowls immediately after. Now he _knows_ that Caesar must be fucking with him. He’s tempted to give up on finding a clever, witty response in favor of just throwing up his middle finger at the man, and calling it a day. _‘Surely you understand, don’t you?’_ Oh, fuck off.

“Arcade,” Caesar interrupts his thoughts once more, stalling him as the lightness in the tyrant's tone is replaced with something more serious. Against his better judgment, he meets those steely eyes across from him, feeling the shift in the air before the other man even continues. “Vulpes is a favorite of mine. I want you to watch over his recovery-- ensure that he’s well taken care of.” he finally says, prompting Arcade to immediately sit up, back going ramrod straight with shock.

“I-- _what?!_ ” He sputters, eyes widening. _No_. Serving Caesar himself is bad enough-- he doesn’t need _another_ remorseless psychopath on his plate, alongside him. “You-- You _cannot_ be--”

“--I _am_.” Caesar cuts him off. “I _am_ being serious, Arcade.” He says, and it’s even more frustrating that he knows well enough how to talk over him. “I’ve been in considerably good health for the last few months, surely I could stand to pass you around a little bit more; share some of the good will, as you Followers say,” He flicks his hand in a lazy gesture, and Arcade _so_ wishes to remind the man that _he_ was a follower once, too. Though he bites his tongue at the last second, instead silently letting himself fume for the moment that intense wave of anger lasts. Then he breathes, decidedly calm again. 

_Deep breaths Arcade, deep breaths._ He reminds himself. _No use wasting the energy._

"Fine." He breathes out, slowly opening his eyes to look up at the other man. His hands twitch when Caesar arches a brow at him, already knowing exactly what the other man was about to say. 

"What was that, Arcade?" He asks, propping his cheek up with his fist before a small grin twitches at his lips, only standing to anger him further. 

“...Your wish is my command, _Caesar,_ ” he spits, voice loaded up with sarcasm and mocking in a way that, infuriatingly enough, simply makes the other man chuckle at his correction.

“Now _that's_ what I like to hear. Go on, now; Lucius will be able to get you inside of Vulpes’ suite,” He says idly, as if remarking on the weather. Arcade pauses yet again, eyebrows furrowing.

“...His _suite?_ He should stay in the clinic, where it’s--” 

“--He’ll have you with him, Doctor." Caesar stops him with another gesture, speaking as if Arcade's presence alone was enough to justify the risk. "I’ll be sure they give you anything you need to ensure Vulpes a speedy recovery.” He continues on, waving that same aggravating hand at him in dismissal. Arcade clenches his jaw, and then his fists. _Fine_. Let the other man have his way, he supposes. If he wants to let the Vulpes recover from his _critical condition_ in a place nowhere _near_ as sterile as the clinic then _fine_ , let Caesar be the idiot who wants to risk it.

He pushes himself to stand from the couch, moving to head back towards the elevator before Caesar calls out to him one last time.  
  


“Arcade, aren’t you forgetting something?” He says sweetly, tone a mockery of innocence. Arcade feels his blood threaten to boil as his stomach rolls, a fresh, different kind of anger washing over him as he stands there for several seconds, fists clenched tightly at his sides.

“... _Vale,_ True to Caesar.” He says through gritted teeth, words stilted, and forced. 

“Good boy. You’re dismissed.” Caesar chuckles, and Arcade doesn’t have to turn around to know he’s smiling. He sets a brisk pace towards the elevator, feeling the familiar sensation of bile rising in his throat that often accompanied those particular words, no matter how many times he’s been forced to repeat them.  
  


“You say _j_ _ump..."_ He mutters under his breath, a bitter feeling stirring within him as he steps inside the elevator, watching the doors slowly slide shut after him.


	2. Luck of the Draw

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've just spent all of today hanging out and editing this-- I really appreciated the comments I got on the last chapter, and it motivated me to finish this super quick!! So, if you like it then go ahead and leave a comment to let me know, I really appreciate them!

True to Caesar’s word, Lucius is able to get Arcade settled in Vulpes’ suite at the Tops with relative ease. Moving his things over is a simple task-- if only because it's all clothing and books, at most. Meanwhile Vulpes is left to rest in the clinic while all of this is happening, regaining fluids, and letting his body begin the slow process of recovery.

It’s only after Arcade is finished moving his things that the start of restocking begins, and he has half a mind to wonder _why_ the cabinets and fridge need to be stocked with food in the first place, why the linen closet needs to be supplied with fresh sheets, why even the bookshelves and windowsills have to be _dusted,_ among other things... 

It’s only when Lucius deigns to explain that Arcade begins to understand all the extra effort. Apparently Vulpes' _particular_ line of ‘work’ kept him from being around often enough to _use_ his suite, most of the time, and _that_ was to blame for the slight state of disrepair. Arcade can’t imagine what that must mean in terms of Vulpes’ _personal_ responsibilities, but he also doesn't have any trouble believing it, either, given the almost barren state of things, even after the work put in to reviving the place. Though he must admit, while Vulpes' suite certainly doesn't look lived in, it at least manages to be quite nice, despite that.

It’s decently sized-- with a room for him to stay in that doesn’t force him to sleep on the couch, though, perhaps even _that_ might not have been such a bad fate, in itself. The cushions are deceptively soft, that first time Arcade sits down to take a break amidst all the running back and forth. He’d found himself looking around the space then, trying to acquaint himself with his new surroundings. It felt... warm, almost homely, despite the lack of life within.

Other than that, it really is disarmingly _average_ in look. The walls are painted a pale, yet warm yellow, the carpet is pale and clean, and the furniture is mostly varying shades of warm tones... For the time he spends alone there, Arcade thinks he certainly wouldn’t mind having a place like this to himself, were he to have had the choice. The thought of that is laughable, of course, but... It _is_ sort of nice, all the same. It's much different from the Lucky 38, if only for the fact Arcade doesn't feel saddled with all the memories that comes with it, here. The change of scenery is welcome enough, and being away from Caesar's immediate attention is only a bonus. 

  
Although, part of him wonders if he’ll feel the same way when Vulpes is here, sharing it with him.   
  


\---  
  


It’s only a couple days later, when the moving, and preparations are all nearly finished, that Arcade finds himself utilizing the same comfortable couch to do some light reading. The time to himself has been strange-- privacy feeling almost foreign after all this time without it-- but he thinks he feels a bit better for it. He certainly feels about as prepared as he can be for Vulpes to be transferred, and, thankfully the few days that have passed have been long enough for Arcade to feel confident in the other man’s stability. Though, he still has yet to wake up, last he’d heard from Siri. 

A few short, sharp knocks at the door give him pause, lifting his head as the door to Vulpes’ suite opens quickly after, not waiting for a response. Predictably, it’s Lucius again, and Arcade snaps his book shut with one hand as he pushes himself to stand.

“Are they ready to transfer him?” He asks in a small breath, leaning over to set his book down against the coffee table. Lucius gives him a quick nod, and he waits while Arcade grabs up his doctor's coat from where it’s draped across the back of the couch, shrugging it on in one elegant motion.

“Some of the others will handle Vulpes’ transfer. It might be best for you to carry some of the supplies up here while you wait.” Lucius suggests, and yet it sounds more like an order than any genuine advice. Arcade gives the other man a look from out of the corner of his eye then, adjusting the sleeves of his coat. 

“I’m sorry, you _don’t_ want me to help with transferring him?” He asks, tone doubtful as he raises his eyebrows. Lucius nods again at that, watching Arcade finally begin to move closer. 

“Siri is already preparing him. Try your best not to fret, he is well taken care of.” He hums, and though his tone _sounds_ genuine, Arcade struggles to hold back a scoff at his implications.

“I’m not _fretting._ ” He says pointedly, folding his arms over his chest. “It just seems… I don’t know, a little ridiculous to not want _both_ of us here, making sure things go smoothly, and all.” He prods, and it’s clear that Lucius is less than enthused about Arcade’s nitpicking, even though Arcade is sure that _he’s_ the one making more sense, here. 

"Once again, It is not necessary." Lucius reiterates, and Arcade has a difficult time seeing why the other man is so adamant-- then again, perhaps he was only being this insistent _because_ of Arcade daring to challenge him on it. It wouldn't be the first time he's witnessed that sort of mentality, especially not since being dragged into the Legion.

"I get that _you_ think it's not necessary, but-- and stay with me here-- I'm an actual _doctor._ Don't you think _my_ opinion on this matter might be just a little more... I don't know, _sound?"_ He spreads his hands out in a steady gesture, and his tone is one you might use to explain something to a five year old. Lucius' eyebrow twitches, and Arcade can see the irritation on his face plain as day. Perhaps it’s _not_ a good idea to poke a sleeping bear, who would’ve thought?

“ _Doctor_.” Lucius says, voice lower and sterner as if imploring him to just _shut up_ already. Arcade holds his hands up in mock-surrender then, knowing Lucius is _much_ _less_ the type to tolerate his barbs than Caesar is. Though, unfortunately, not even the threat of wearing on the other man's nerves is enough to tame Arcade’s quick mouth. 

“Fine, fine." He begins with a huff, "If you would rather only have _one_ capable person overseeing the semi-difficult process rather than _two,_ then fine. Suppose I’ll go _move some boxes_ for you, instead.” He drawls, looking over the rim of his glasses at the other man in obvious irritation. Lucius closes his eyes for a brief moment directly after, as if willing himself to be patient before looking at Arcade again.

“Thank you,” He breathes out in clear relief, even despite the sarcasm in Arcade’s tone. While the sincerity is a bit of a surprise in the moment, Arcade refuses to feel bad for being pushy-- seriously, would it really kill anyone to listen to the _doctor_ once in a while? “Too many people present may only complicate the process. Siri can direct us on what to do well enough-- unless you’d wish to help in a more _physical_ sense...” Lucius continues, and, ah, finally Arcade realizes what he means. Two doctor’s talking over each other… well, perhaps he can see how that might get a _bit_ confusing...

“Oh...” He trails off, glancing away from the other man as Lucius regards him with a _look._

“There’s a young man downstairs that will guide you to the storage room. Try not to scare him off, yes?” Lucius finally finishes, taking a step aside to let Arcade out into the hallway. 

“Yes, yes. Because _I’m_ the scary one, here.” He rolls his eyes, though he doesn’t wait for Lucius to respond before he slips out of the doorway. He has half a mind to consider why this unnamed young man doesn’t just bring the boxes up himself, but then he realizes-- he may very well be stuck here long enough to actually need this information in the future. He can’t imagine Caesar sending many people to check on them-- no, he’d expect Arcade to take care of the household needs _himself,_ knowing his discomfort towards being around other slaves, and such... 

That thought makes him _incredibly_ uncomfortable, because it more than likely meant that Caesar was trying to be _considerate_ of him, and in doing so, also meant that he’d likely be _alone_ with Vulpes for the main duration of his recovery. 

He makes his way to the elevator without further incident, although he tries to block out the discomfort brewing within himself by focusing on Lucius’ earlier words, instead. _‘Try not to scare him off,’_ he’d said. Come to think of it, what would Arcade even ‘scare him off’ _with?_ Machinations of revolution? Advanced algebra? He shakes his head with a small scoff. 

_What a load of Brahmin shit._

-

Arcade reaches the bottom floor of the Tops without any trouble, and while there are a few different people moving and doing tasks around, it’s hard to miss the small, squirrelly-looking gentleman by the entrance, quite obviously waiting for something. Arcade heads towards him after a moment of hesitation, and it seems he’s hit the nail on the head with his guess, because the moment the other man manages to notice Arcade he moves to meet him half-way. 

“You’re the young man Lucius told me to see, I presume?” He asks once he finally reaches him, nearly jolting himself when the smaller man almost flinches away from his voice, before nodding in answer. 

“Yes,” He wrings his hands in front of him, eyes darting to the side to look back at the entrance “Thi-This way, sir.” He says, voice surprisingly meek as he begins to turn away again. He checks behind himself constantly as they walk, as if making sure that Arcade is following in the time it takes them to get outside.

“Do you have a name?” Arcade asks shortly after, mostly to fill the silence amidst their trek towards the clinic. He takes care to speak a little softer than he had before-- His hackles are a bit lowered now, too. It’s obvious that whoever this man is, he clearly isn’t any kind of soldier. 

“Ah… A-Avis, sir,” He answers quietly, fidgeting with his hands as he looks to Arcade out of the corner of his eye. He seems to hide behind his hair as much as he’s able, the dark strands falling just below his chin. The reddish hue of it almost reminds him of Cass, though it’s darker, more auburn-- and Avis himself doesn’t bear much more resemblance to her other than that. Though, that's likely a good thing. Arcade doesn't know how he'd feel if there'd been _more_ similarities to pick between, given even just that small reminder leaves a cold chill in the pit of his stomach.

“Right,” He nods then, pushing aside the feeling in order to commit the name to memory. He’s not sure it’ll be useful in the future, but it’s nice to think it might be. 

Their short trek takes them nearly to the end of the Strip, back to the clinic before they move right past it, circling around towards a small shack pushed up beside it-- no doubt erected as a storage shed of some kind.  
  
Inside is dimly lit, and cramped beyond reason as Avis pushes the door open for him. He’s fairly certain it’s only used for excess materials, considering how full the shelves are with miscellaneous boxes and containers, some with labels, and others without. The one's with labels all vary in name-- a mix of English and Latin in various different types of handwriting-- and the ones without aren't really worth paying any mind, apparently. Arcade can’t help but feel a small rush of envy at the sight, all the same. _The kinds of things the Followers could have achieved with supplies like this…_ And yet, he’s sure this isn’t even a drop in the bucket compared to everything the Legion must have spread out from base to base. 

That thought hardly matters, though, as Avis quietly leads him over to the far left side of the room, where a few boxes are settled against the wall, marked with two lines of bold, red paint. "These ones are for you," Avis points at the stack, nervously tucking a strand of hair behind his ear with his free hand. "You should pru-probably check them… make sure they’re right," He suggests after, and Arcade watches his hands move to begin worrying at the bottom of his shirt, avoiding eye contact.

"Suppose that’s fair..." Arcade hums, stooping down into a crouch as he lifts one of the boxes on top of the stack. He sets it down in front of himself, finding it to be fairly light. Inside are bandages, a few extra IV bags, medical tape... Arcade hums softly throughout his examination, and it only takes a few minutes of looking through the other box as well before he eventually sighs, and turns to look where Avis is nervously watching him. "Do you know if there’s any Med-x in these, by chance?" He asks, and he doesn’t think he said it in a particularly forceful way, yet Avis looks away from him as if scolded.

"Caesar didn't permit..." Is all the other man has to mumble before a ragged sigh tumbles out of Arcade’s lips. Though, he feels bad for it the moment he sees the other man flinch again. 

"Sorry, sorry, it's not your fault," He apologizes immediately, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose. "I suppose it's just something I'll have to ask about, myself _._ " he breathes out after a moment. Really, for a man so eager to ensure Vulpes a fast recovery, Caesar seems to have a knack for making things _much_ more difficult than they need to be. "Won't let him rest in the clinic, won't permit any kind of painkillers, and is _still_ somehow expecting me to pull a miracle out of my ass..." He scoffs under his breath, shaking his head as he pushes himself to stand.

Aside from that, everything else he needs seems to be there, for the few boxes there is. Arcade sets the small stack back in order, hefting both of them into his arms as he stands. He's not exactly irritated about the 'no-chems' rule for Vulpes' sake, because in all honesty, the man probably _deserves_ to suffer through it-- but Caesar wants him to recover fast, and _well.--_ something that is woefully more difficult to achieve without the use of any pain management.   
  


Arcade huffs under his breath as he finally steps back out into the open air, turning his head towards the sky. _God, if you're up there..._ He thinks to himself, _Grant me patience._

\---

It's an agonizing half-hour before the transfer is over, and despite Arcade's initial absence for the beginning of it, he still manages to help settle the other man in bed alongside Siri, as well as a few Legionary's that were relegated to doing the heavy lifting. It takes some work getting him to a position that wouldn't exacerbate his injuries, but eventually they manage to get there, and from then it only takes setting up an IV to ensure the other man wouldn't drop off from dehydration before Siri and the others are able to leave.

Arcade walks her to the door after the others have already departed, and she stops him before he can grab the door, surprising him with a small parting-hug. 

“Good luck, Doctor.” She says quietly, pulling away to reveal the sorry smile on her face. His stomach does a nervous flip at the sight, yet he nods, forcing a reassuring smile onto his own face. 

“I’ll manage,” He tells her then, sounding much more sure of himself than he feels. If Siri notices, then she doesn’t say anything to show it, and a few minutes later he finds himself alone in the entryway once again, the door softly clicking shut behind her.   
  
-

Arcade isn’t alone for long, however, because It's not much time after that when Caesar decides to grace him with his presence. He’s tasked with filling the man in-- going over the details, showing him Vulpes laid up in bed, looking worse for wear-- all of that passes in a blur before he ends up seated by the warlord's hip in the living room again, meanwhile Caesar continues to stand. He seems pleased, even despite the grim circumstance. Though, perhaps his satisfaction comes from knowing his orders have been carried out-- or perhaps he's merely optimistic about Vulpes' chances of recovery, now that he's seen him still breathing. Either way, after a small, relative silence he claps Arcade on the shoulder while he's mid-drink, unknowingly making him spill water down his chin until it splatters against his shirt, in the process. 

Arcade goes still at the contact, and then glares down at the dark spot of dampness left over in distaste before looking up, and eyeing Caesar with the same sentiment. Although, to his credit, the older man doesn't even seem to notice the incident, given the fact he isn’t _snickering,_ or even looking back at him, for that matter. 

“Well done, Arcade.” He speaks after a moment, still oblivious to the doctor trying to pat his shirt dry beside him, “Glad my boys could help you set everything up. Vulpes should recover in no time with you watching over him,” He says, and Arcade is slightly stricken by the sincerity in his tone. It’s the same tone Arcade has come to despise from him-- the one that screamed _‘delusional’_ in big, bold letters. The man’s speaking to him like a friend, again. 

Arcade looks to the hand on his shoulder warily before he takes another sip of water, this time uninterrupted. 

“...He’ll likely need physical therapy for the damage to his hip and calf." He begins after swallowing, dabbing his mouth dry with the back of his hand before he continues. He would like to drag the man back to the present, if at all possible. Even if that means going out of his way to deliver bad news-- which, usually Arcade would avoid like the plague. "Try not to get your hopes up for how fast he'll recover-- unless you want to break him, that is.” He says quietly, and despite the discomfort in his stomach he feels quite satisfied when Caesar removes his hand from his shoulder. 

“I know, I know,” He says, sounding suspiciously unbothered in the same way that says he certainly _doesn’t_ know. “But, counting all of that in the mix, how long are we thinking he could be out of commission, at most?” He asks, turning to finally look at Arcade properly, where the doctor is still sitting. It strikes Arcade in that moment that he has to look _up_ at Caesar now, and rarely, if ever, has that been a flattering position to be in. There's a very real urge to stand up, but he holds off, chiding himself for the ridiculous reaction. 

_Why does it matter if we have to look up at him?_ He challenges himself. _Not every moment is meant to be a symbol._

“Right. I forgot that you like to prepare for the worst...” Arcade says sarcastically, and yet he still ends up leveling his head, so as not to consciously tilt his face up. Instead he peers up at the other man from over the rim of his glasses, like that of a bored secretary, rather than a slave. He glances up towards the ceiling right after, trying to do some mental math in regards to how bad it might be-- or in this case, how _long_ it might be, until Vulpes was deemed ‘recovered’ in Caesar's eyes. 

“Well, if everything goes just peachy and perfect for him, _maybe_ eight months. But, given that things almost are _never_ like that, we’re probably looking a little closer to a year, depending...” Arcade hums, glancing back to Caesar’s face only to see the terse line of his lips, and the furrow beginning to form in his brow. 

“...A full year,” He says quietly, sound contemplative of the fact as he presses his hand to his mouth, drumming his fingers against his lips. “That’s… longer than what would be practical,” He sighs quietly, glancing to Arcade again. “Is there nothing to speed up his recovery?” He asks next, actually taking the time to sit down beside Arcade on the couch, now. The cushions dip with his weight, and Arcade feels a very real... _relief_ at the other man's inconvenience. Though, he's sure _lots_ of things might help. Like super stimpaks, or medicinal chems, or even just _Not. Rushing. It._

“Well, Caesar...” He begins with a sigh, pushing his glasses up higher on the bridge of his nose. “Recovery isn’t the sort of thing we can _afford_ to rush, in Vulpes’ case.” Arcade will readily admit that he has never felt so _satisfied_ by giving a person _bad_ news before, but with Caesar... there's just something so _gratifying_ about watching the other man's face fall, especially considering the friendly tone he’d been using only a few moments prior. Even the thought of it awakens something dark beneath his skin, an urge to twist the knife in further-- sever the connection _even more_ to remove himself from it. Perhaps it’s sadistic to see it that way, but Caesar _deserves_ it. Arcade is not his friend, and there’s nothing he despises more than when the man treats him like one. 

“Besides,” He forces his tone into something more casual, “As the Legion's views stand, there’s nothing _I_ can even _give him_ aside from healing powder, plenty of fluids, and rest-- which doesn’t even account for the pain he might wake up in, either.” He says, and internally there’s a slowly-growing smile trying to squirm onto his lips when Caesar sighs again. "Maybe if you permitted the use of some pain management it could go by quicker, because I honestly can't imagine him recovering-- or even _getting_ to therapy, without it," Arcade muses, and honestly, he's _not_ hashing out demands for the sake of _Vulpes'_ comfort, even if the Follower in him cringes at the thought of going without it.

Caesar at least seems to be listening to him, though, lips pressed into a thin line as if he was contemplating, wracking his brain for ideas. “What about the Auto-Doc? Could that do something for him?” He asks shortly after. Arcade hums at the suggestion, making a show of thinking on it.

“...The Auto-Doc is more for preexisting conditions than it is for recent, potentially fatal injuries... I wouldn't recommend it.” He says after a moment, shaking his head in mock apology. Perhaps he shouldn’t be enjoying this so much, but it really is… _poetic_ , giving the most powerful man in the Mojave the boot. Really, it’s Caesar’s fault for making up ridiculous rules around medical practices, though-- how was _anyone_ meant to survive with _just_ healing powder for their entire life? ‘Survival of the fittest’ is only a strategy that will serve him for so long, especially now that he’s got the Mojave under his heel, alongside all his other territories. 

Caesar looks away from Arcade in the next moment, seeming to stare off towards a far-off spot of carpet in thought. He's quiet for a minute or so, and Arcade waits for him to speak up again, content to watch. “So then… Truly, a _year?_ ” He stresses after the small silence, looking up to him again. The conflict at the news is clear in his eyes, and the heavy-set frown on his lips. Arcade gives him an apologetic look, followed by what he hopes looks like a solemn nod in confirmation. 

“It should be a year at _most."_ He emphasizes, "Although, I'm not a psychic, I don’t know what kind of troubles he might face during his recovery. It could be even _longer_ , but that’s just something we’re going to have to find out,” he continues, trying to use his best ‘bad news’ voice from his days of treating people in Freeside. It seems to actually _work,_ too, because Caesar looks disappointed to hear it, but he nods regardless, as if coming to terms with the fact that it’s just one of those things that can’t be helped. "As I said before, some form of pain management might speed up the process, and--"

"--Arcade," Caesar interrupts, "Vulpes would probably croak before he ever let himself rely on chems." That shuts him up in an instant, and he looks over at the older man with a bewildered expression. He’s not shocked by the news, but it sounds more like Caesar is speaking from experience, rather than merely sticking to his rules. "See, I'm sure he'd do it if I ordered it of him, but you and I both know the rate of addiction for first-timers." Caesar continues, leaning back against the couch with a small sigh. "I can permit some for now, but minimal doses is probably the only thing he can handle-- no hooking him up to an IV of that shit, it'll probably put him in a coma with how unstable he's been," he says with a derisive huff, though the ridicule doesn't seem to be directed _at_ Vulpes as much as it is at the situation, itself. 

It’s obvious Caesar is trying to be lighthearted with his tone, but the words are starkly contrasting with that of a seasoned warlord-- if anything, it almost resembles the conversations he's had with other Followers before, weighing the risks and rewards before action. He honestly hadn't considered _just how_ vulnerable Vulpes might be to addiction if he _does_ introduce chems into the mix, even if they're clinical. Of course, he knows there's always that small risk when using them-- it's more that he didn't realize just how much that risk _increases_ , considering Vulpes has likely never interacted with them before.

Generally, the normal circumstance is that a person has had moderate experience with some sort of chem in their lives-- Children break bones all the time, splints and half-doses of painkillers are the common remedy. It's the wasteland for Christ's sake, people get hurt, punched, kicked, _shot._ He hadn't met a person who'd never experienced what it was like to be sick, or had never broken a bone, torn a ligament-- _anything_ that required some form of medicinal treatment, before-- at least, not until the Legion.

Then again, in the Legion, if you broke your leg as a child you probably died for it. If you got shot, even somewhere less fatal, you probably died for it. If you got _sick?_ You probably died for it. He feels like an _idiot_ to have not realized it before, but maybe that's because the only time he's ever _needed_ to worry about it was with _Caesar's_ surgery, and even _he_ had let Arcade use whatever he needed, back then. 

"Well, when you put it that way..." Arcade says slowly. His throat feels uncomfortably dry, and he takes a long drink of water to soothe it. For a moment his mind lags behind, stuck imagining the horrors that come with living in the Legion for one's entire life. _Thank god I could use stimpaks when I was a kid._ He muses to himself. 

"I'm not saying you can't use anything," Caesar sighs after a moment, watching Arcade set his water bottle back on the coffee table, "I'm just saying you'll have to be a lot more careful. Only use them if he can't function otherwise, or else you're going to have a lot more to deal with aside from just his _physical_ recovery." Caesar continues. Arcade nods at that, swallowing hard at the thought. If Vulpes _did_ get addicted then it's likely that he would be in charge of rehabilitating him, as well, and that _really_ wasn't something up Arcade's alley-- at least, not when it comes to dealing with a literal _sociopath_ like Vulpes.

"...Either way, I'll still say a year is the estimate," Arcade says once he's finally caught back up to the moment, trying to push his previous thoughts aside in order to focus again. "Recovery still isn't a process that can afford to be rushed in _any_ circumstance. I don't want you to get your hopes up." He finishes, giving the other man a pointed look as he finally feels like he’s back on track.

“I suppose that's fair enough..." Caesar hums quietly, closing his eyes, "I waited for four years after our first battle at Hoover Dam. I’m sure I can wait at least _one_ for one of my best to recover, even if it’s a bitch to deal with.” He finishes, and Arcade is honestly a little surprised by the rationality behind his words. He supposes even _Caesar_ must understand what’s at stake, here-- though Arcade isn’t even sure _he_ knows. Despite this, he nods his head in agreement, and then there’s a brief, yet strangely companionable silence between the two of them.   
  
“...Why _is_ it that you need him so badly, anyways?” Arcade finds himself asking a few minutes later, voice a little quieter as he looks towards the closed door leading to Vulpes’ room, where the object of their conversation is currently still resting. “I mean, you already _have_ the Mojave. What kind of espionage is still so important?” He continues, watching as Caesar glances to the closed bedroom door as well, seeming to ponder his answer. Arcade knows without a doubt that there are still uses for espionage-- he hasn't forgotten the brief mention of Vulpes being injured from an ambush, so obviously there must still be push-back against the Legion in the Mojave... It's more that he's curious about just what _kind_ of use Vulpes must be, still. Was the other man still seeking out other groups to betray and assimilate, as he had before they'd won at the Dam? Or was it something else entirely? What makes the possibility of his death so notable, so _horrible_ in Caesar’s eyes, so as to completely swap the script with Arcade’s day to day life the way he has? What’s the _risk?_

Silence reigns for several more moments following his question, and it’s obvious that whatever Caesar is thinking of has a lot of weight to it, for him to be quiet for this long. 

“...I’ve always had need of Vulpes,” Caesar finally responds, and Arcade feels out of place at the naked sincerity in his tone. It’s almost similar to when he would speak to Arcade as a friend, and yet it’s so clearly not directed at _him._ “He is among my most loyal-- he was brought to me, barely even a man yet when his Centurion called for his crucifixion. He’d gone against orders in a battle and broke rank, you see," He turns to look at Arcade then, and it's clear the man is merely reminiscing. "But, in doing so he’d also captured the chieftain of the clan they were fighting against,” Caesar continues, an inkling of pride clear in his tone. “So, of course, I made him head of the Frumentarii instead. Ever since then, he's never made me regret it. Even now, when there’s hardly any need for espionage, he still finds ways to continue working. Obtaining new skills, new information-- he always makes sure he is useful to me.” He says this as he turns his head to look back at the closed door, seemingly in afterthought. 

Meanwhile, Arcade has taken to watching Caesar’s expression, instead. He’s uncertain of how to feel at the clear pride the other man speaks with. It's uncomfortable, listening to all these praises being sung about a man he knows has tortured hundreds, maybe thousands-- and likely killed even more than that. Arcade shifts again, settling back into the couch despite how tense he feels while trying to grasp for a response. It's not like he'd asked for a backstory on the man, yet Caesar had seemed to want to take it that way, regardless. The way he'd spoke of him just now was almost like that of a proud parent, just looking to gush over their child's latest accomplishment... and yet it was different from that, at the same time. It felt... manipulative, warped in a way that makes Arcade's stomach turn, although he’s not surprised. 

“So… he’s one of your favorites because he’s one of the most useful.” Arcade quietly assumes, speaking despite the discomfort he feels. Caesar simply waves a hand at him in dismissal.

“He’s my favorite because he saddles my burdens as his own.” Caesar corrects him, turning again to meet his eyes head-on. “There isn’t a thing he cares about more than serving me. I saved his life, I saw his brilliance and gave him a chance to shine-- and now he pays me back for that generosity every day. When I first dubbed him _Vulpes Inculta,_ that was merely a title,” He glances off to the side, looking off at nothing in particular as he considers his next words. “It was meant to be reused-- there have been a few men who have gone by the same title,” Arcade’s eyes briefly widen at the information, “--But since then, it’s truly become his, and _his alone_.” Caesar returns his gaze to Arcade again, eyes glinting in the afternoon light. “I doubt there will ever be another.” 

Arcade struggles to meet that look, feeling a sweep of nausea pass through him. 

“He is irreplaceable.” Caesar continues, tone tinged with so much _more_ than just finality when he speaks. The intensity of that stare, of those _words..._ It's deeply unsettling, even after the year he's had to get used to times like these. Caesar has a very particular way of grasping the moment, where his words are smooth and methodical, but iron-clad in a way that leaves no room for argument, and really, there _isn't_ an argument to be had, here. Or if there is, Arcade certainly isn't privy to it, nor does he want to be.   
  


He knew-- of _course_ he knew just how manipulative, and terrible Caesar really was-- he's known since long before he'd become the man's slave. He's learned, over the last year or so, how to distance himself from the weight of that knowledge. He's learned how to keep it from hanging over him at all times, and yet it's moments like these that bring the reality back into focus. It's moments like right now, when the man speaks of others with such reverence, such _care,_ that make it impossible to ignore. 

Caesar really does reckon himself a god, and he doesn't care about humanity a single _inch_ unless it's bowing to him. 

Not long after they’re conversation dies off, Caesar pushes himself to stand. He readjusts his robes in a slow, steady touch before making his way to the door again, leaving Arcade to sit there, and watch him in the silence left behind. If he’s expected to say something, he can’t imagine what. 

The door opens, but before Caesar leaves, he turns back towards him, giving the doctor a small smile as if he knew something Arcade didn't.   
  


“Take care of him, Doctor.” He says, and then the door clicks shut, leaving Arcade staring at the polished wood left in his place. 

\---

It’s been a day or so since Caesar’s last visit, and so far no one else has come to check up on the both of them outside of dropping things off-- namely, the package of med-x he’d been promised. Avis hadn’t exactly stuck around after handing it over, but that’s just as well for Arcade. It’s only been a day, so it’s not as if he’s being deprived of human contact any more than he's used to.

He’s spent most of it reading, as usual, and exploring the oddities around Vulpes’ suite-- which, turns out there really _isn’t_ any, much to his own disappointment. Other than that it hasn't necessarily been a _chore_ to pass the time, really he's more than happy to have some for himself for a change, and his early assumption that Caesar would refrain from sending slaves to maintain the suite had seemed to be correct-- that meant for the most part, it was just him, and his thoughts keeping himself company, considering Vulpes’ current condition...

His head turns then, letting his eyes flicker over towards Vulpes' bedroom at the thought. He'd opted to leave the door open instead of shut after Caesar's initial departure, just on the off chance the other man finally woke up. But, Vulpes doesn't seem to even _stir._ He's barely seemed _alive_ this past day or so, but Arcade has since realized that, eerily enough, that just seems to be how Vulpes' body naturally rests. His heartbeat is steady, yet it's unnervingly slow, and faint in a way that would seem abnormal, yet it's been consistently the same every time Arcade has checked it. 

And Arcade _has_ checked it.   
  


Vulpes had been a nasty sight when Arcade had come to see him, this morning. Even laid up in his own bed as he was, he'd still managed to look out of place among the pristine sheets and pillows. Though, Arcade wasn't particularly unnerved by that fact at the time, considering the man had been an inch away from death not but two days ago-- and death was certainly a more _fitting_ look for him in that moment, especially with how little his chest would rise and fall as he breathed. It almost looked like he'd stopped all together, possibly hours before Arcade had arrived. He'd practically been the mirrors-image of death. 

If Arcade hadn't cared so little for his own mortality, he might have felt a bit grim at the sight.  
  


Now though, after he’s made himself a light lunch and finished it, he finds himself stepping back into Vulpes’ room for the second time today. This time to give him a proper check-up instead, rather than a harmless once-over to make sure he hadn’t died in his sleep. 

_Right. Because doctors are supposed to make sure their patients live, Arcade._ He dryly reminds himself, coming in and setting his half-finished coffee on the nightstand as he does. Arcade would like to say his lack of immediate concern is due to his own waning will to live, or something equally as pragmatic-- but, truthfully, it's actually because he already knows Vulpes is beginning to recover. He's less at risk of dying than he had been a couple of days ago, at the very least. Of course that risk is still _there,_ but with the IV keeping him hydrated, as well as Arcade's constant checking, and treatment, it's much less likely than it _would_ be. 

And, perhaps his lack of concern is also partially from the fact that Vulpes isn't exactly on his _nice list,_ so to speak.   
  


Once he’s done checking over the IV he moves on to actually checking on Vulpes, himself. He's already washed his hands before coming in, so he doesn’t shy away from touching the other man, now. 

Arcade brushes his fingers against his cheek, cupping his face in one hand as he tilts his head to get a look at the nasty black eye mottling his skin. The area is still heavily bruised all the way down to the middle of his cheek, but it had gone from the deep purple and red from before to a lighter color, with splotches of sickly looking yellow and grey mottling the left side of his face. Overall it's not that bad, considering. 

Next, he slowly begins to work along the scrapes and lacerations across his body, mostly paying attention to the ones that are deep enough to cause concern, noting those few broken ribs he'd first seen back in the clinic along the way, as well. He'll have to avoid putting any pressure on those, and make sure they heal properly-- ribs are some of the hardest bones to look after in terms of breaks, because the only thing you can really do is manage it from the _outside._ It's not like you can just set a broken rib back into place; you just have to trust it'll heal on its own, and with Vulpes having so many injuries to heal from already...

He shakes his head, letting out a quiet sigh as he moves on, beginning to change out the bandages for any injuries that had bled, as well as re-disinfecting, and applying more healing powder over them along the way. After that’s done, he devotes all his focus to the bullet wound on his calf, and above his hip. He makes sure to clean them as thoroughly as he can before he spreads a handful of healing powder over the two sets of bandages, and re-wraps the wounds one at a time. It isn’t much, but it’s all he can do for now. 

For the most part, it's easy work. Vulpes barely even stirs while he does it-- and that suits Arcade just fine. He’s more than happy to quietly think to himself. Though, he must admit, the fact he’s unconscious makes it... _easier._ Easier to treat him as he would any other person in need, even if it feels a little unseemly to admit it. At least like this, he can pretend he's doing the right thing without having to entertain the guilt of saving a man that's hurt so many people, and will likely continue to do so. His hands stall over Vulpes' calf in the middle of bandaging, pausing at that thought, and yet he forces himself to continue moving only a second later, simply gritting his teeth for the moment guilt threatens to swell in his chest. 

Caesar mentioned there had been more than one. 

Despite how badly that thought wants to slap him in the face, he’s been trying avidly to _not_ think about it. 

He supposes he shouldn’t be so shocked-- The name Vulpes Inculta seems much bigger than the man himself, fragile as he looks right now-- he also looks _young,_ younger than anyone of his status ought to, in Arcade’s opinion. 

Though, the recycled title might explain the list of ‘Vulpes Inculta’s’ achievements, he’s loath to accept the thought that this man has a chance to be anything _but_ evil, despite it. Caesar himself said he’d taken the title as his own. He’d molded it into something made in his image, something no longer reusable, or applicable to _anyone_ else. That must mean he’s done something to _earn_ it as his name, and surely whatever he’s done to do so must have been heinous, to have earned so much of Caesar’s favor.

 _Or it was multiple things._ He thinks to himself, and really, it seems like a much more likely option.   
  


Arcade continues to think to himself as he works, shifting away from the more disturbing thoughts in favor of something more mundane-- like how he can’t imagine what Vulpes might act like when he’s awake for these check-ups, in the future. Admittedly, it’s a much easier line of thought to stomach, though it makes him want to groan in exasperation-- Vulpes is Legion, and not only is he Legion, but he's one of the most important men _in_ it. God knows what he'll act like when he wakes up. Arcade can already imagine the stifling discussions. The reruns about how _'The dissolute must be punished’_ or _'The Legion brings justice to the land,'_ and _'blah, blah, blah’._

Arcade doesn’t care to hear that kind of stuff for the four-millionth time. He didn't care for it the first, either. Yet it's the only thing Legion men seem to talk about-- the _glory_ of the Legion. It’s like walking through a record store filled shelf to shelf with the same track in every corner, and it gets to a point where you just learn to tune it out, either by treating it as background noise, or by just thinking _really_ loud. He manages a small, amused huff at that thought as he finally finishes bandaging Vulpes' calf, pushing himself to stand before grabbing his coffee mug off the nightstand. _Thank god I'm good at both._

Arcade takes a sip of his coffee then, only lukewarm now as he looks over Vulpes’ sleeping figure. He swears he can already feel himself dreading the moment the other man wakes up, like a weight settling heavy in his bones.   
  


This is about to be a _rough_ couple of months, Arcade is certain of it. 

\---

The rest of the day is passed easily on his own, and Arcade sleeps the night away without much trouble getting used to his new surroundings.   
  
In the morning, he eats breakfast, passes some time reading, and then decides to check on Vulpes again before he makes lunch. 

Just the same as yesterday, he starts with the other man's face, examining the black eye, and the scrape along his jaw just to check the healing progress. Once he’s satisfied with that, he begins to steadily work his way down the other man’s body, pulling back the bed sheet covering him as he examines injury after injury. His chest and torso look a bit better today in terms of bruising, and so do his thighs, and legs-- but that’s just the natural order of things. Lesser wounds are always going to heal faster than major ones, that's just common sense. 

He shifts, finishing up with his assessment of the other man's calf before turning to pick up his tray of utensils, following the same routine he had the other day as he plans to start re-bandaging the injury. Except, when he turns back he nearly jumps out of his skin, seeing a pair of sharp blue eyes looking back at him. 

“Oh-- _Christ._ ” He gasps out, breath shuddering in his chest as he coughs into his fist, trying to get his heart to dislodge from where it had slammed up into his throat. “I-- I didn’t… didn’t realize you were _awake,_ already.” He says, stumbling over his words for a moment before he can gather his composure. Vulpes doesn’t respond to that with anything other than a lingering look, and upon second glance, Arcade realizes it’s not a glare on his face, but rather a look he might get on his _own_ face, were he to forgo his glasses. Arcade lets out a quiet breath, shifting to sit closer to Vulpes’ hip so he can get a better look at him. The man's eyes follow him all the while, but he still doesn’t utter a word-- Which is totally _not_ unnerving whatsoever.

Vulpes looks flushed, feverish when just yesterday he’d looked whiter than a sheet. Perhaps more startlingly, the whites of his eyes are stained red, with blotches of white peeking through-- a blood vessel must have burst, and while that isn’t a _huge_ deal, it only makes his gaze _sharper,_ somehow, more threatening, even despite his dazed state. 

Arcade clears his throat nervously, deciphering that Vulpes is likely still struggling to focus, rather than intentionally giving him the stare of death Arcade had thought he was, initially.

“Can… Can you see me, Vulpes? Hear me?” He tries to lower his voice to a quieter, hopefully less grating tone as he asks. After all, as bad as he looks, he probably _feels_ even worse. The muscles in Vulpes’ jaw clench, and then unclench; his pupils constrict, and it looks like he's actually _meeting_ Arcade's eyes, rather than just blankly staring before he slowly nods. 

Arcade swallows hard at the sight, glancing towards the nightstand before shifting to reach out towards the half-emptied bottle of water he'd brought into the room with him. “Here, I bet your throat must hurt, right?” He says, voice still carefully quiet as he unscrews the lid, and offers it to the other man. 

It's a long moment when Vulpes seems to gather his bearings, and reaches out. He grasps the offered bottle with unsteady fingers, and Arcade bites his lip, moving up closer again so he can help the other man drink from it. It’s obvious he’s almost entirely out of it, still, because he even lets Arcade help him tip his head up to drink-- something that is woefully concerning, and not at all reminiscent of the man he remembers from the Strip all that time ago, when he was still free. No, then, Vulpes had been all terror and fire; he’d looked at Arcade and frozen him in place with a smile full of sharp teeth. 

It feels like a lifetime away from then, watching the same man lie back, not even coherent enough to do anything but let himself be tended to with Arcade's gentle coaxing.

It's… disturbing, to say the least. 

Arcade nibbles at his lower lip again, uncertain of what to do until he remembers he still hasn’t changed out Vulpes’ bandages. Though a quick glance to the man's face tells him it won't be an issue, because after Arcade takes the water bottle away he’s already dozing off again, spacing out with that ruddy flush still on his face. Arcade's aware that it's likely a fever. though that’s a good thing-- it would mean his body is trying to fight off any infection that might be trying to settle. It'd be much more concerning if he _didn't_ have one, at this point.

The moment Arcade reaches up to check his temperature, Vulpes’ sharp, bloodied eyes are open, and looking at him again. Arcade’s got enough of a handle on his nerves now, though, and he steadily continues, brushing the back of his hand against the other man's forehead just to check that he wasn’t _too_ hot. He looks down into those eyes as he does, feeling seen, even if there’s no substance to the way Vulpes is looking at him, now. 

Perhaps it's just the shadow of his former self that Arcade is picturing, projecting the chilling gaze he remembers onto the dazed, pained expression the other man has now, rather than seeing it as simply as it really is-- Vulpes probably doesn't even recognize him right now, and if he does, then it's clear he doesn't even have the capacity to _care._ Not that Arcade posed any kind of threat to him, regardless... 

“Just… go back to sleep if you can. You should feel better by tomorrow,” He says slowly, and Vulpes merely gives him a jerky nod, accepting the simple reassurance before closing his eyes again. 

Arcade isn’t entirely sure whether Vulpes is just too far gone to question him, or if he is _just aware enough_ that he actually _does_ recognize his surroundings, and had the forethought to know he was safe enough here to listen to him; but regardless of which option it is, it’s still so incredibly strange to see him like... _this._ Allowing himself to be cared for, and vulnerable-- even though Arcade knows there’s no alternative reaction the man could give, especially with injuries like his. Maybe Arcade is just overthinking all of this. Actually, scratch that, he’s _definitely_ overthinking all of this. 

He shakes his head again to try and clear it, letting out a quiet sigh as he pushes himself to stand a moment later. He should probably give the man some painkillers before anything else, now that he's started to regain consciousness on his own. He's not planning to do anything as strong as a full dose of med-x just yet, but perhaps some healing powder over his forehead will be enough to knock him out for a while longer.  
  


 _You're just too antsy for your own good, Arcade._ Is what he thinks, though he hears it as a memory, hidden away in the teasing lilt of his grandmother's voice, instead of his own.


	3. Waking the Dead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, finally finished this chapter after days of editing, and then more editing. Hope you guys like it-- in which we finally see Vulpes really wake up!! Exciting developments all around! As usual, if you like it please feel free to leave a comment! Those are a pretty solid source of motivation for me, even on the days I don't feel like writing or editing! Also, Thank you guys for reading this far!!

When Arcade wakes up, it’s to the silent, chilly darkness of his room; disoriented and unaware of the reason behind his sudden return to consciousness. 

After a moment of laying there, and having yet to find an answer, he lets out an irritated groan, pinching the bridge of his nose before turning over onto his side. Blindly, he throws his hand out to grope for his glasses in the darkness, taking a moment before he finally finds them, slipping the cool frames into his grasp. He pushes himself to sit up then, unfolding them one-handed before settling them over the bridge of his nose. They hardly help in the darkness, though his eyes are slowly beginning to adjust. 

It’s either late night, or very, _very_ early morning, considering how early the sun usually rises out here in the Mojave. There’s a sleepiness clinging to him tells him he didn’t merely wake up on his own, either. Yet that begs the question; What _did_ wake him? His heart isn't racing, so it wasn't a nightmare-- and his room is empty aside from him, so it wasn't a _person,_ either... 

He strains his ears to try and listen for something-- some sort of sound that might explain the creeping anxiety beginning to build in his chest-- and after what feels like several moments of waiting he hears a labored cough from the other room, followed by a fit of them shortly after. It sounds strained, painful and rasping, even despite how muffled it is. 

Arcade swears under his breath as he quickly pulls the sheets off of himself, shoving them to the side before he’s all but tripping on his way to the living room. He gropes at the wall in the darkness as he moves along, managing to flip the lightswitch. The living room is flooded with light in seconds, and he shuts his eyes with a quiet groan. 

He slips his fingers underneath his glasses to rub at one of them as he crosses the room, blindly making his way across the threshold, yet it’s only a few short steps before he stops in the archway leading into Vulpes’ room, peeking an eye open to look.

He stops then, hand falling away from his face as he sucks in a sharp breath of alarm. He sees Vulpes, still in bed just as he’d left him, but _sitting up._

“No, no, _no--_ ” He chants under his breath as he rushes to the other man’s side, hands coming down to gently grasp his biceps. Vulpes coughs again in the time he does, shoulders jerking with the force of it. It’s a painful sound-- deep and wheezing from inside his chest, before Arcade is urging him back down. “You shouldn’t sit up, you _really_ shouldn’t.” He says, speaking quickly, and quietly before he’s pulling back, and seeing those bright blue eyes zeroed in on him. They're looking _much_ more focused, and even sharper than they had the day before as they stare a hole right through him. He nearly flinches away at the sight, taking in the other's expression and-- even despite the fact he should clearly be in pain, he looks more _irritated_ than anything. 

“Help... me up,” Vulpes breathes, and Arcade nearly winces away again at the rough, hoarse sound of it. He pushes his glasses further up on his nose from where they’d slid down in his haste, and furrows his eyebrows. 

“You _really_ don’t need to be sitting up,” He repeats, and Vulpes lets out another rough sound as he raises one hand, running it down the length of his face in exasperation.

“ _Bathroom._ ” He growls, to which Arcade sucks in a sharp breath. 

“Oh.” He says, “Oh. Right, of-- of course.” He manages, voice nearly a croak. He reaches out further then, slipping his arms under Vulpes’ shoulders before he starts the slow process of helping the other man sit up again. Of course, he should have assumed Vulpes wouldn’t be struggling for no reason, but waking up in a quiet panic was never an easy moment to rationalize things in. Arcade can hardly blame himself for _that._

Vulpes is quiet throughout the process, eventually getting his legs over the edge of the mattress with the doctor’s help. The silence from him is a touch concerning, as Arcade would have expected a lot more noise from him in his current condition. Isn't he in pain? Usually by now he'd at least hear some sort of groan, or hiss, but... “You-- Er, Here, rest your weight on me. Put as little pressure on your left leg as possible,” He instructs, pushing the concerned thoughts away to focus on the present, instead. 

Vulpes is solid, and heavy against him when they manage to get him standing, but Arcade is more than strong enough to support him. Thankfully he doesn’t seem eager to make things more difficult, either, because he follows Arcade's instructions down to the letter, even if he can practically _feel_ Vulpes’ frustration the entire time-- though, so far he’s _wonderfully_ lacking in complaints. Arcade is more inclined to say that's due to the fact that it _is_ an ungodly hour in the morning, and he can imagine Vulpes would probably _really_ prefer to just go back to bed, rather than waste his breath. But then again, Arcade is only assuming this based on the expression of _pure inconvenience_ on the other man's face as they both half walk, and half hobble to the bathroom together, not that he can blame the man.

“Do you want me to-- er…” He swallows a bit dryly when Vulpes glares up at him from out of the corner of his eye, not even turning his head to do so. 

Clearly, this man is _not_ a morning person. “Right. I’ll just. Leave you to it.” Arcade awkwardly responds, helping him into the doorway before he lets Vulpes push off of him, seeming more than content to do the rest himself while Arcade minds his business on the other side of the wall. 

Of course, most people would rather not have a doctor hovering over them in the bathroom, so perhaps he shouldn’t be surprised. 

After several minutes there's a sound of running water, and Arcade nearly jumps out of his skin at the resounding ‘bang’ of Vulpes’ hand connecting with the door frame, for support. Arcade looks at him with widened eyes, yet he doesn’t say a word about it as he moves back in, offering his shoulder to the man once more. Eventually, they make their way back to the bedroom, and Arcade does his part to make sure Vulpes can get re-situated as he should be. Though the other man lets out a painful sounding wheeze the moment he lays down. Arcade bites his lip at the sight, imagining all the shifting around can’t feel good for his ribs-- or his other injuries, for that matter. 

Nevertheless, Vulpes is eventually back to where he should be, breathing labored, but slow. Arcade nibbles his lip as he reaches for him, considering the Med-x back in the bathroom as he touches the back of his hand to Vulpes' brow, finding the man a bit feverish again. 

"Vulpes, can you understand me?" He asks quietly, watching those pale eyes blearily slide back open. "I'm going to give you some Med-x. It’ll help you breathe easier, and hopefully get some more rest-- is that alright?" He asks, and he watches Vulpes' eyes slowly close again after he says it. Clearly the man is still out of it, even despite the brief appearance of coherency, earlier-- then again, how coherent does one have to be to just limp to the bathroom, exactly? Arcade wouldn't imagine it requires a lot. 

He sighs softly, grabbing up the half-empty water bottle on the nightstand, before slipping out of the room to refill it under the tap, and grab a vial of Med-x from under the sink. He drops by the kitchen as well before heading back, and once he's returned to Vulpes' side he sets an opened packet of crackers down alongside the bottle of water, just in case he wants something to eat, after the painkillers.

It's a simple procedure to draw out the Med-x, gingerly taking Vulpes' arm as he seeks out a vein, and then sliding the needle under his skin with practiced precision. He injects only half the dose he would normally give to a man of Vulpes' stature, knowing that it'd likely be more than enough considering Vulpes history with chems-- or, well, lack thereof. He lets out a small noise as Arcade depresses the plunger, but his eyes remain closed, barely fluttering even when the doctor is finally finished.

"Vulpes," Arcade says again, feeling… almost a bit _bad,_ continuing to bother the man. "I need you to drink something, after that." He tells him, grasping the water bottle as Vulpes seems to force his eyes open, again. "Just a few sips and I'll leave you alone, okay?" He asks, holding out the bottle. It's a slow process, with Arcade having to mostly hold it up for him when Vulpes' own grip proved too unstable to do so, but eventually Arcade is satisfied. He stands back up, setting the bottle down within reach of the other just as it had been. 

Vulpes’ eyes are already slipping shut again, his breathing slowly evening out to something less labored than it had been, only a few moments prior. Clearly the painkiller is working it’s magic-- Arcade wagers he probably won't wake again until morning, or perhaps even later than that. 

Arcade doesn’t linger longer than he has to. Once it’s apparent that Vulpes isn’t going to need anything else, he turns tail and heads straight back to his room, hoping against all odds that he might be able to get some more rest, and avoid sleeping through the morning. 

\---

Arcade only falls into a light sleep for the rest of the night, and when morning finally comes he wakes up feeling tired, and groggy. 

Regardless of that, he still forces himself out of bed, figuring it would be a very, _very_ bad idea to sleep in when he knows Vulpes is finally beginning to come to on his own. It should go without saying he’ll need to be as present as possible for the next few days-- it’s likely they’ll be the biggest hurdle to overcome, for now. 

_Even if it’s a pain._ He thinks to himself, sighing, and rubbing a hand down his face to try and wake himself up. 

It doesn’t take long to get dressed, and before he checks on Vulpes he decides to stop by the bathroom, and wash his face with cold water in an attempt to wake himself up. He feels a bit more alert by the time he wrings his hands out in the sink, flinging off the excess water and listening to the satisfying noise it makes when the droplets hit the smooth porcelain.

  
It’s bright enough outside for Arcade to forgo turning on the living room light during his trek through it, figuring it would be courteous to avoid shining any bright lights into the other man’s bedroom when he could possibly be sleeping, or otherwise. 

Vulpes is laying just the same as Arcade left him the night before, eyes closed, and breathing slow. For a brief moment he thinks the other man _is_ still asleep, after all-- until he notices the way his hand steadily opens, and closes against the bedsheets, feeling, flexing... It's only a small gesture, but Arcade takes it as a sign that he's awake. People tend to seek out something sensory when dosed on Med-x. It's a chem that provides a floaty feeling, possibly inducing drowsiness, or even _exhaustion_ if the individual affected isn’t used to the chem itself-- and sure enough, Vulpes _isn’t_. 

It makes sense that he would try to seek out something to ground himself, even if that something is just grasping the bedsheets between his fingers. Arcade comes closer to him, trying not to disrupt the peace of the room too heavily for the other man. 

“Er-- Vulpes?” Arcade asks softly, watching those bright blue eyes slowly blink open, before looking towards him. They look hazy, and the red still flooding his sclera makes him look sick, alongside with the strong flush on his face turning his cheeks a warm pink. 

_It seems almost too vibrant to be normal._ Arcade thinks to himself, taking an uncertain step closer. “I… I should change your bandages, now…” He says, almost to himself as he forces himself to move towards him. He glances to the bedside on his way, and is quietly pleased when he sees that the bottle of water he’d left for the man was empty. So, he _had_ woken up before, as well-- though he'd seemed to forgo eating any of the crackers left for him, Arcade supposes he should be happy he even _drank_ anything in the first place. 

He reaches out for the bottle, picking it up. He’s not sure how long Vulpes has been dozing like this, or how long it’s been since he emptied the bottle, but he might appreciate having something to drink before Arcade starts prodding him. “Let me fill this up for you, before I start,” He tells him then, trying to let himself fall back into the routine of being a _doctor_ again, rather than the cynical physician he’s used to. 

A quick trip to the bathroom sink and back, and then he’s seated at Vulpes’ side again, setting the now-full bottle within arms-length, in case the other wants to drink from it while he works. Though, the other man doesn’t seem too keen to move at all, just yet. Arcade would be lying if he said the stillness wasn’t at least a _little_ eerie, especially with just how quiet the other man has been, as well. For some reason Arcade had thought Vulpes would be more vocal by now-- Though that thought was clearly misplaced, considering he seems content to either doze off, or stare. 

_Some patients are more chatty than others._ He supposes. 

“I’m… I’m going to examine your injuries now, alright?” He says, mostly just talking to the empty air as he meets those frightening eyes, softened with the hedge of drowsiness. “How would you rate your pain, right now? Do you need more painkillers?” He starts off, frowning when Vulpes scowls at the question. Well, at least it’s clear he _understands_ him, if nothing else. “No?” Arcade amends, watching Vulpes look up at him with a cloudy expression, before just barely shaking his head in agreement. 

Arcade sighs quietly, but really, he can’t say he’s surprised by the negative reaction. The Med-x was probably still affecting him anyhow, and he wouldn't doubt that Vulpes already knew that fact himself. He probably dislikes it _even more_ than that expression lets on, too. After all, Caesar _had_ warned him, though he’s loath to give the warlord _any_ sort of commendation for doing so. 

“Alright,” Arcade breathes out, reaching for him as he tries to keep his touches gentle. He grasps the other man's chin, then, tilting his head back towards him in an attempt to get a closer look at that black eye, again. Vulpes lets him, for the most part. Although that half-lidded stare of his is still _quite_ intimidating, foggy as he seems to be. “Hey, it’s looking better today,” Arcade comments idly, smiling with the same nervous enthusiasm one might have when held at gunpoint. 

Seriously, he feels… _seen,_ as though Vulpes was staring right through him.

 _Stop freaking yourself out._ He chides himself, biting his lower lip. _You have a job to do, just ignore him._

And try to ignore him, he does. Arcade does his best to continue checking, and re-bandaging the minor wounds along the other man’s body after he’s through examining his face, but it’s a much more daunting task when he _knows_ Vulpes is awake, and watching him. Despite his attempts to push that thought from his mind, he still treads with caution during his work; as if Vulpes’ body is made of hot coals, and Arcade is just waiting for the moment his fingers get burnt.   
  


It’s easier when he ignores Vulpes’ face. He can at least _pretend_ the other man is still asleep, like that. And that technique works for the most part, though, when he unwraps the bandages around the other man’s hip, and goes to clean the bullet wound underneath, Vulpes jolts. It’s so slight it would barely even be noticeable to anyone else, but it still makes Arcade flinch. Christ, are his own nerves really on such a hair-trigger?

He glances up, swallowing hard when he sees Vulpes watching him-- no, watching his _hands--_ with narrowed eyes. His jaw is clenched, and it’s clear he’s bracing for more pain to follow. Arcade quickly reminds himself that he doesn’t care for this man as a person, yet being a Followers doctor for so many years previous has made him... _kinder._ More sympathetic to the suffering of others. This aspect of himself is _infinitely_ more frustrating now, though, when all of his patients are some of the worst people he could ever have the displeasure of treating. 

_Filthy, murderous animals. That's all the Legion is._ He thinks venomously. _Killers, rapists, slavers… Why am I worrying about his discomfort?_ He asks himself, crossing over the threshold from anxiety, and into anger. 

Though, he already knows the answer. 

He can remind himself of the circumstance a million times, can shout his resentment to the clouds and back, but at the end of the day his morals just don’t _care_ who he’s treating. It doesn’t matter that it’s Vulpes Inculta, just as it hadn’t mattered when it was _Caesar_ that he was treating. Of course there was still _resentment_ there, but at the end of the day he can’t just watch a person suffer if he _knows_ there’s something he can do to help. Even if it wouldn’t matter in the end, even if they’d given him _no_ reason to do so-- Perhaps that makes him a foolish man, to have a heart so forgiving in a place like the Mojave-- perhaps it makes him weak, and spineless, and _cowardly;_ but cynicism will only get him so far in a world like this. 

His kind nature is what's kept him _human_ , he couldn't dare part with it now. 

“Relax,” He urges softly, coaxing Vulpes into meeting his eyes. “If you brace for pain it’ll only make it worse.” He explains in a gentle tone, pleased when the other man finally looks up to his face. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but trust me, _I’m_ the doctor here.” It comes out dry, almost joking in a way that clashes with the tension of the moment, though he doesn’t fault himself for trying to lighten the mood. Vulpes stares up at him, and his gaze _looks_ frigid when Arcade meets it, though he quickly waves that possibility away when he feels the other man slowly forcing himself to relax. Arcade manages a small smile in reassurance before Vulpes looks to the ceiling instead, pale eyes flickering.

“Good job,” He praises the other man, going to prep a cotton pad with disinfectant. “Trust me, I _won't_ hurt you. Caesar would probably crucify me himself, if I did.” He chuckles, and it’s not funny, but he breezes right along as if it is. 

Cleaning out the wound on Vulpes’ hip isn’t a difficult process, although he can hear the other man’s breathing beginning to strain, again. “You’re doing well,” He tries to reassure him, though the words have a professional sort of distance to them. Really, it was probably more akin to someone patting a dog for not misbehaving, rather than any sort of genuine comfort on Arcade’s part. 

It takes a good few minutes, but soon enough he's re-bandaging Vulpes' hip, and he feels the muscles in the other man’s stomach actually start to relax by the time the healing power is taking effect. That leaves just his calf to take care of. Arcade _would_ assume this one would be easier to do than his hip, yet the moment he’s gotten the bandages off, and reaches out to lift his leg by the ankle, Vulpes lets out a stark, punched-out noise of pain that immediately makes him let go again.

“Sorry, sorry,” Arcade gasps out, moving to lean forward so he can touch the outside of Vulpes’ thigh in concern, eyes locked on to the pained expression on the other man’s face. “Is it tender? What does it feel like?” He quickly asks next, worried at just how _pale_ the other man had gone in the span of a few seconds. The Med-x _must_ be wearing off, after all. He supposes it _has_ been several hours… Vulpes' body probably burned right through the unfamiliar substance, despite Arcade’s earlier assumptions otherwise.

 _“Burns.”_ Is the only word Vulpes hisses out, breath coming too quick, and too hard. Arcade pushes his glasses up, turning to glance back to the other man’s injured leg. It... It doesn’t _look_ to be infected, nor had it appeared to be the other times he’d examined it in the past. He nibbles at his lower lip in concern, recalling how he’s been cleaning it reliably, as well as routinely changing out the bandages for it... Of course, on the flip side, bullet wounds _did_ have a tendency to be a bit _specific_ when it came to healing-- the most minor of mistakes can prove to be a nasty setback. If Arcade had somehow wrapped the wound too tight, or not cleaned it thoroughly enough, or even just left the bandages on too long, then he supposes an infection isn’t _impossible,_ per se-- It's just... He'd been so _careful_ with the man thus far, it's not likely he'd make such a misstep like that without catching it, first. 

“It’s-- Okay, listen. I’ll have to get a closer look at it if I want to figure out what's wrong. But, the wound is on the back of your calf…” He trails off, biting his lip as he tries to work through how he wants to go about this. “I’d ask you to turn onto your side, but your hip…” He glances back to Vulpes’ waist. His _left_ calf is the injured one, but the wound on his hip is to the right, instead. If Arcade wanted to get at his leg then Vulpes would have to work with an injured hip to do so-- something that could potentially exacerbate the injury _more,_ if he wasn’t careful. 

Vulpes lets out a rough sound under his breath, and Arcade quickly looks back up at him. His pale eyes are positively _burning_ as they watch him, head tilted down to look at Arcade through his lashes. It’s the kind of look that makes his hearth stall in his chest, and he swallows nervously.

“It’s… _fine._ Just... _Iustus facere, Medicus.”_ _Just do, Doctor_. Vulpes’ brows pinch in as he speaks, eyes falling shut from the effort. He slips into Latin at the end of his sentence as though it’s easier for him, and Arcade sucks in a quiet breath at the sound of those silken syllables slurring together. The Med-x still seems to be making him sluggish, but it’s clearly not doing enough for the pain anymore. The problem with that is that Arcade doesn't want to just give him _more,_ either-- Especially not while he's still so fragile, like this. _That_ may be just a little too risky right now, what with how sensitive the other man is to chems in general. Arcade isn't too keen on the idea of giving him more than he can handle, even if it feels wrong to not try and figure _something_ out.

 _But, at least he deserves_ _it._ That thought cuts through the rest, snapping Arcade out of it. _How many people has he made suffer so much worse? Surely he can deal with it._

It’s a bit morbid, but that thought actually makes him feel better.  
  


“...Alright, _i_ _ustus relaxat,”_ He says after a moment, hoping to ease the other man by speaking his language, instead. _Just relax._

He pushes his glasses up further on his nose, turning back to Vulpes’ leg as he considers what to do. Slowly, he reaches out again, trying to be as careful as he can when he shifts to sit closer, his hand gently moving to cradle the bottom of his ankle once more before he lifts it up. Vulpes sucks in a sharp breath, shuddering, but he tolerates it.

The wound is clearly irritated still, though Arcade can’t see any signs of infection during his examination. The muscles surrounding the wound are just incredibly inflamed, by the looks of it. That much is normal, and expected of such a grievous injury, but it was also probably the reason it hurt so bad when Arcade touched it-- after all, his body is having to work overtime to try and heal itself. 

“Well, good news, it doesn't _look_ infected.” He says, smiling in relief as he lowers the other man’s leg back to the mattress again. “If anything, it’s looking _good_ , healing up just like it should be,” He says, turning to glance at Vulpes’ face. The other man looks flushed, brow pinched from exertion, yet he opens his eyes to look up at Arcade regardless, nodding just once in understanding when he realizes the doctor was waiting for a response. 

After that Arcade goes about cleaning and patching the wound up, just as he had with the other injuries across his body. He tries to take extra care in being gentle with the other man, feeling it every time Vulpes’ muscles would twitch underneath his hands. 

“Aside from… well, all of this,” Arcade speaks up after a moment, gesturing to Vulpes’ body as the other man’s pale eyes flicker over the bruises and scrapes not hidden by bandages. “--How are you feeling?” He finishes, raising an eyebrow at the other man. “I’m sure you must be hurting still, but I was going to make lunch for myself after treating you. I can make enough for two since you’re… er, _'out of commission'_ for now, if you’d like?” He asks, a tad awkwardly. Vulpes glances up from where he’d been examining himself, then, regarding the doctor with half-lidded eyes.

“I feel… ill,” He speaks slowly, voice rough. Arcade nods in understanding, settling his hands in his lap. 

“That’s probably because you _haven’t_ eaten in a while-- and all the stress your body has gone through, plus the painkillers wearing off...” He lists, gaze sliding to the side. “I don’t know if I _can_ give you any more Med-x right now, so I’ll just… if I bring you something light to eat, will you at least try?" He asks next, looking back only to realize Vulpes is watching him with narrowed eyes. The mention of Med-x being used probably isn’t very appreciated by the other man, nor is the thought of him already being on it, Arcade imagines. But, he isn’t going to pretend that he _hasn’t_ used anything, either-- He _needs_ something to help with the pain, whether he likes it or not. 

He levels his stare at the other man as if to challenge that quiet look, meeting it head on. Vulpes is a frightening man, but Arcade is _still_ the doctor, here.

Thankfully, or, perhaps more worryingly, Vulpes doesn’t end up saying anything-- instead he lets out a shuddering sigh, and closes his eyes before nodding his agreement. Maybe speaking would have been too much effort, or perhaps he’s too distracted by the pain to think through it. Either way, Arcade lets out a soft breath in response. 

“Alright. I’ll be back in a few minutes, if you need me, shout.” He tells the other man, pushing himself to stand. He doesn’t wait for Vulpes to answer him-- he doesn’t really _expect_ the other man to, based on the way he’s acted thus far-- a small mercy, Arcade muses. 

Caesar had been _much_ more of a challenge to handle, even when he’d first woken up from surgery; yet Vulpes seemed to have much less that he wanted to complain about, even without the use of heavy painkillers on his side like Caesar had. Arcade shudders to think about how high his pain tolerance would have to be, even just being _coherent_ as he is right now with those kinds of injuries… Perhaps Arcade shouldn’t say it's _mercy_ that’s keeping the other man so quiet.   
  
\---

It doesn’t take him long to fix lunch. He’s no cook, but he knows just as well as anyone how to throw something together. Sandwiches are an easy fix, and he slices up some cooked gecko meat into thin slices, piling it onto some bread with cheese before he cuts it into four pieces, figuring Vulpes might have an easier time eating it, that way. He thinks on it for a moment, and then cuts up some prickly pear fruit on the side, just so he’s getting all the vitamins he _really_ needs on the plate together. Honestly, he feels a little ridiculous doing all this for the man-- the last time someone ever cut _Arcade’s_ food for him was when he was maybe ten or so-- but then again, Arcade _also_ didn't have three broken ribs, and a couple of bullet wounds poking holes into him. So, maybe he’s being a little unfair. 

That thought gets a bit of amusement out of him, nonetheless, and he makes his way out of the kitchen once he’s finished. It’s only a few feet away before he’s back in Vulpes’ bedroom again, two plates of food in either of his hands. 

When he steps inside he finds Vulpes is sitting up a little more than when he’d left, holding his bottle of water close to his chest in both hands, as if afraid he might drop it otherwise. He looks up at Arcade when he enters, though, and then down to the plates in his hands before the doctor sets one in his lap, not wanting to make him reach. 

“I’m not asking you to eat it all if you can't,” He explains, sitting at the edge of the bed again as he does. “But just… try, alright? Your body could really use the nutrients.” He finishes, glancing off to the side, and away from Vulpes’ troubled expression. 

He looks back when he hears the sheets shift, seeing Vulpes hesitate before slowly reaching out, and picking up a piece of prickly pear fruit. He clutches the water bottle in his other hand still, as he presses the bite of fruit to his lips, still staring down at his plate in uncertainty-- as if he isn’t sure whether he wants to eat it or not. It dampens his lips in his moment of hesitation, but eventually they part, and he gently presses the fruit into his mouth, swiping his tongue over the spot of scarlet juice left on his bottom lip before he starts chewing. 

It’s a process for Vulpes, and for the long moment it lasts Arcade feels a strange sort of tension in the air, amidst his staring. That was... weird, of him. That was _definitely_ weird of him, to just _stare--_ but he quickly waves the thought away. After all, Vulpes is eating like he’d asked him to. “...See? It’s not so bad, right?” He tries to reassure him, attempting to breeze past that weird tension he’s still feeling. 

Though, he isn't sure whether or not Vulpes felt it as well, or if it was just... him _._ “Try to be mindful of your ribs.” He speaks again after a second, seeing Vulpes’ eyes slowly raise back towards him. “If they start to hurt more than usual, then let me know.” He tells him, moving to pick up his own plate. He can see Vulpes nod, and from then the two of them eat together in silence.

It's strange. He watches Vulpes pick up one of his sandwich slices from the corner of his eye, and he carefully bites into it, pinkie extended. His hand is trembling slightly as he does so, and Arcade wonders what it must feel like for him to struggle with even the smallest things, considering the depth of his prowess in the Legion. He's Caesar's most loyal; the feared leader of the Frumentarii, but here he struggles to even _eat_. He can only imagine how grating that fact must be.

Back at Fortification Hill, he'd seen Vulpes around more often than not-- usually busy with something or another when he wasn't obediently stationed at Caesar’s side, looking like that of a waiting hound-- and really, wasn't he? 

Arcade turns his head fully to watch the other man, now. His eyes have fallen closed, and his brow is pinched in clear discomfort before he forces himself to take another sip of water between bites, the bottle crinkling in his shaky grasp as he does.

Well. He sure doesn't _look_ like a fearsome hound, anymore. 

"Do you want help?" Arcade asks, coming in closer already, before the other man can answer. He wraps his fingers around Vulpes’ wrist to steady him, breathing in quietly as he considers. "If you're comfortable with it, I suppose I could go ahead and give you some more Med-x.” He finally decides. “I was a bit nervous to, at first, but it’s clear that you’re still struggling right now. I’m sure you won’t ask for any on your own, either-- but this’ll be a lot easier for you, if you let me." he says in a lower, softer tone. As much as he dislikes Vulpes, that same, _infuriatingly_ empathetic part of him _hates_ to watch him struggle like this. He _knows_ he can do something about it, even if he’d been nervous to try it, before. The pain will only get worse for him the longer he waits, and Vulpes is _already_ struggling, if the look on his face is anything to go by. 

Arcade watches him swallow hard, and those bloodied eyes look up at him sharply.

"...Listen, you must know _I am_ properly trained to handle these things-- your body has been through a lot of trauma all at once, Vulpes," he continues on, partially uncertain as to why he was still trying, and another part wondering why he deigned to try _at all._

Vulpes continues to stare at him after, gaze sharp as it seems burns a hole right through him. Arcade clears his throat then, trying to dislodge the slight nervousness he feels at that intense look. _It’s alright._ He reassures himself. _He can’t do anything to you._

Arcade feels a little better upon realizing that fact. Of course, Vulpes is too injured to _do_ anything to him-- though he has to admit, the other man’s ability to make people forget he’s mortally wounded is, honestly, a bit impressive. See, he _looks_ coherent enough to leap up at a moments notice, but Arcade is slowly starting to see the subtle signs that say otherwise, as well-- the sweat breaking out over his brow, the barely-there twinge of tightness in his jaw, as if he’s clenching his teeth together without making it obvious... it's clear that in the hour the other man has been awake, the Med-x has almost entirely worn off.

"I would... would rather _not..._ Doctor," Vulpes breathes out, and his voice comes out as a low, pained breath. He raises another bite of prickly pear to his mouth, and Arcade glances towards the floor as he thinks on what to say to that. He hadn’t expected the man to actually speak again, but he supposes it’s a good sign that he _did,_ regardless. 

“I must admit, your tolerance for pain is… quite impressive,” He confesses, coughing into his fist after to disguise the stiffness in his tone, “But, I’m not your enemy. I’m not someone trying to kill you, or kick you while you're down,” Arcade continues on, leveling his eyes with Vulpes to meet his stare. “And, it would really probably benefit you more if you didn’t treat me as such-- if you want my help to recover-- and you _will_ need my help, regardless--” He continues sternly, “--Then it would really make things easier for both of us if you just…” he trails off in uncertainty; what is it he’s trying to say, here?

Arcade glances away again, seeming to consider it for a moment. 

“...Knock yourself down a peg, I think is the term I’m searching for,” He says quietly, looking back up at Vulpes from the corner of his eyes. “You’ll get nowhere if you aren't honest with me about how you're feeling. I know that’s probably a big change, and I get that, but you’ll just end up making things worse for yourself if you do. If you're in pain, I can give you medication to help-- you wouldn’t starve yourself if there was food around, would you?” Arcade asks, trying to make a point. It’s one of the many things about the Legion that he just doesn’t understand. Yes, yes, ‘survival of the fittest’ and all that is a factor, certainly, but still, there comes a point when that mentality reaches a ridiculous level. Arcade would argue the very base of it is ridiculous, of course, but that’s hardly the point here. 

His question is rhetorical, though. He’s not expecting a real response from Vulpes when he says it, which is what makes it surprising when the other man lets out another shuddered breath, still eyeing him even as he winces with pain.

“I… I would.” He says slowly, with startling finality. Arcade turns his head back towards him again, eyebrows furrowing. “If I... If I failed my- my Lord, then… I would.” His words are laborious for him, as evident by his pained expression as he tries to concentrate on speaking. Meanwhile Arcade… isn’t sure what to say to that. 

He can’t say he’s surprised. Of course he can’t-- every soldier in the Legion thinks Caesar is a _god_ , it makes sense that they’d instill it upon themselves to suffer if-- Well, actually... no, Arcade muses, watching the other man’s chest begin to strain with his breathing. Perhaps this particular sentiment might just be Vulpes’ alone. He doesn’t think he’s ever heard of a legionary inflicting a self-punishment, before. At least, not outside of the tails of committing suicide on the brink of being captured-- He knows they accept whenever a punishment is called onto them _by_ Caesar, but really, was there any other option? It’s not as though anyone could really _deny_ the man. Although that isn’t what Vulpes is talking about. 

He can't say he recalls a time he’s seen _any_ Legion soldier punish themselves as… what? As a means of atonement? Perhaps this is what Caesar was speaking to him about the other day-- about _'saddling his burdens as his own',_ or something.

“...Caesar doesn’t consider… well, _this,”_ He gestures down the line of Vulpes’ body, “--As failure, you know.” He finally responds, feeling a bit out of place. He’s not the man’s counselor, but he can’t help but feel a bit... responsible? After all, it’s not like he can just… _force_ Vulpes into using chems. That’s immoral, and honestly, even trying probably would go really, _really_ poorly. But at the same time, there’s no way the man will just _agree_ to it-- he needs to find a way to convince him, before anything else. “You don’t know this, but Caesar _personally_ permitted me to use Med-x. I… _really_ don’t think he wants you to suffer through this--” Arcade tries to justify, pausing when Vulpes holds up one shaky hand. 

_“Caesar.”_ Vulpes says sharply, correcting Arcades pronunciation as much as he is getting the other man’s attention, “Is _merciful_ to me. Too much, at.. at times,” he continues after a moment, blinking open his eyes to stare down towards his legs. “It would be more-- more detrimental to always… _take_ those mercies. I would not risk… losing my discipline.” He says in a shuddered exhale, and Arcade feels briefly torn between incredible discomfort, and genuine irritation. Vulpes is literally _struggling to breathe_ here, and yet he’s still refusing help. Arcade isn’t sure whether or not he’s supposed to be impressed by the other man’s dedication, but right now, it just feels like he’s being _stubborn._

“I hear what your saying,” He slowly begins, “But really, it doesn’t matter whether or not you think you’ll _‘lose your discipline’_ or-- or whatever this is,” He says with a brief gesture of his hand, “But, Caesar isn’t here right now. _I’m_ the one stuck taking care of you for the next several months.” He continues, looking to Vulpes’ face only to find him looking back, “You’re either going to listen to me-- the _doctor_ who has your actual, _physical_ best interest in mind-- or your going to listen to yourself, and either end up taking even _longer_ to recover, or _not recovering at all.”_ He finishes, and he’s not quite _snapping,_ but he certainly isn’t _happy_ , either.

Vulpes continues to watch him, brows slightly furrowed, although he makes no effort to speak up, again. Arcade lets out a quiet sigh, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“Look. I’m not here for this-- whatever this emotional disconnect between you, and what a _healthy_ relationship is, versus an _unhealthy_ one-- I’m just here to make sure you _live through this,_ and being stubborn about what medical treatments you _personally_ wouldn't afford yourself is a great way to counteract my efforts.” Arcade finally finishes, beginning to simmer down a little bit, now that he’d gotten all of that out of his system. 

Vulpes is still staring at him when he comes back to himself, head cocked just slightly to the side like that of a curious-- or perhaps _startled--_ animal. His eyes are slightly widened as he stares back at Arcade for a long, quiet moment, and then they flicker down, seeming to look over the doctor's features as if truly _seeing_ him in for the first time. Arcade tips his head up a bit more for him, too. Daring the other man to argue with him. 

But, Vulpes doesn’t. Even as his lips part, he doesn’t say a word. It certainly seems like he _wants_ to say something, but is holding off. Arcade toys with the idea that, maybe he’s stricken the man speechless, based on the slight look of bewilderment on his face. “Your methods of persuasion are… are quite intriguing, Doctor.” Vulpes admits, eyebrows still furrowed as he looks over Arcades face again. 

He huffs at that, eyes going half-lidded as he regards the other man with a look. “What, were you expecting a nice, flowery conversation where I unthinkingly listen and do as you say?” He snips, unable to help himself. _“Sorry,_ but I’m not that kind of doctor, Vulpes.” He scoffs, watching the other man’s brows shoot up in surprise. 

It feels _good_ to say that, and he crosses one leg over the other as he opts to set his plate of food on the nightstand for now, figuring that he might be fairly close to winning this whole argument-- if it could even be considered one. It’s more or less just been ten minutes of him ranting at the other man, after all. 

“I… wouldn’t say I ex-- expected _flowers.”_ Vulpes says, and when he stumbles over his words he pauses fully, seeming to brace himself before continuing. Arcade suppresses the urge to correct him, but, as a man who has spent all of his life running his mouth, it's exceedingly difficult.

“Of course,” Is what he settles for instead, tone dry as he adjusts his glasses. “Now, are you going to let me help you, or are you going to insist on more pointless masochism?” He asks next, folding his arms over his chest. For once he actually feels… somewhat in _control_ of what's happening around him. That’s a startling thing to feel, after a year of the complete opposite. 

Vulpes takes another shuddering breath then, and looks up at him through his lashes, pale eyes gleaming as he seems to regard the doctor with a lingering look of consideration, even through the pain. _“Si vos oportet,_ _Medicus,”_ He finally responds, sounding too tired to argue any longer. _If you must, Doctor._


	4. The Sound of Contemplation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sometimes.... I am just a little creature.... i cannot help this.... but I still did my best to get this chapter out for all of you guys so!!! yknow, let me know what you all think!!

If yesterday was difficult, then today is _even_ _worse._ Not just mentally, but _physically_ as well, for a change. 

Really, Arcade had been following a routine of sorts so far. Wake up, eat, check on Vulpes, eat again; essentially just spending the rest of his time blissfully by himself, so long as the other man didn’t call or ask for him, first. It’s only the second day Vulpes has been fully awake for, and so far Arcade is taking to it, albeit... _slowly_. 

When he first rolls out of bed he manages to tug on his clothes, and get up the will to try and make breakfast before he hears Vulpes’ voice greeting him from his bedroom. “Medicus?” He calls, voice groggy-- soft from sleep, and Arcade almost doesn’t hear it until he steps out into the living room. 

He lifts his arms above his head in a stretch, yawning into his fist as he bridges the short gap between himself, and the door to Vulpes’ room. He leans against the frame of it when he’s close enough to do so, taking in the sight of the other man before raising his eyebrows. 

“Yes, Vulpes?” He asks, voice a bit thicker from sleep as well. It seems the both of them lean towards waking up early, if the sun barely rising into the sky is anything to go by.

Though, now that he thinks about it, Vulpes probably wakes up early more out of years of necessity, rather than just preference-- Then again Arcade supposes it's become necessity for _him_ as well, during his year of servitude. That thought makes his lips twitch into a frown. _Gee, way to lighten the mood, Doc._ He quietly thinks, feeling just a _little_ bitter.

Vulpes’ eyes are closed until Arcade speaks, entirely oblivious to the doctor's inner turmoil when his pale blue eyes blearily open, and peer up at the man from his place laying in bed. “Would you…” He trails off, eyes cutting to the side where Arcade notices the empty water bottle to his right. He bites his lip, and if this was happening before the Legion, and his subsequent enslavement, then he might have let himself smile. It’s early and he’s just woken up, and everything about Vulpes is just so uniquely _human_ in a way that reminds him of much, _much_ fonder memories of past patients, and times that are long gone. Ah, hell, what can he say? He’s a soft bastard at heart, really-- he's always loved to take care of people. 

“...Of course,” He says, voice a smidgen softer than it really _should_ be, because try as he might to remind himself, this is _not_ those better times, and Vulpes is _certainly_ not his friend. He rubs at one of his eyes as he pushes off the doorframe, solidifying that thought in his mind before stepping in closer, grabbing up the bottle before pausing at the other man’s side. “I'm going to make some breakfast after this, do you have a preference?” He asks, and he says it in a way that very clearly implies Vulpes is _going_ to be eating, no exceptions. 

Arcade watches the muscles in Vulpes throat work, seeing the man struggle to swallow as his pale eyes flicker off to the side, considering. 

“...No, no preference.” He says, sounding rough. Arcade raises an eyebrow at him.

“Really? No preference at all? Are you sure?” He hedges, mostly because he knows he can get away with it. “Eggs and toast fine with you, then? Alright.” He hums, shrugging when Vulpes nods. He leaves to fill up his water bottle in the bathroom sink, and then quickly returns to give it back to the man, before heading back out to go make breakfast for the both of them. 

_Again,_ he’s no chef, but eggs and toast are simple enough. If there’s anything wrong with the food, then Vulpes doesn’t mention it in the fifteen-minutes they spend eating it together, either. He’d decided to take a few more liberties with the other man’s plate than his own again-- he’d actually cut the toast diagonally both ways, so the bread was shaped in little triangular cuts. He thought Vulpes might have found the gesture condescending, and Arcade had perhaps meant it to be a _little_ passive-aggressive at the time, but he’s... he's glad he did it, when he sees the man scoop a bit of his eggs onto one of the triangles, and pop a bite into his mouth, seeming entirely unfazed by the small kindness.   
  


When breakfast is over Vulpes lets Arcade give him another half-dose of Med-x just like he had the other day, before he leaves again to go wash their plates in the kitchen. When he returns afterwards he thinks the other man might be asleep-- but those blue eyes blink open to look up at him when he comes closer, apparently alerted by the sound of Arcade approaching. 

He looks… well, he still _looks_ drugged out, but the coherency in his gaze shines through more than it had previously, even after the fresh dose of painkillers. That's a good sign-- it means he’s slowly adapting to it. Who knows, at this rate he might even be able to handle a full dose without passing out by the end of the month! That's probably just wishful thinking but, hey, a man can dream, right?

 _It’d be nice to not have to change the needles out for fresh ones, every time…_ He waves that thought away, sighing quietly. 

“Are you alright with me checking your injuries, now?” Arcade asks, more out of courtesy than anything. It’s not really like Vulpes can say _no,_ but he's a little surprised when the other man holds up a hand, seeming a little sluggish. Arcade pauses at the gesture, raising an eyebrow when that hand slowly drops back down to the sheets.

“...Could… Could I bathe, first?” He asks, taking a moment to get the words out. The Med-x makes him sound more slurred than his usual crisp, pained tone, though Arcade still easily understands him. 

“Ah… I… I suppose that would be a good idea, huh?” He says then, biting his lip in consideration. He’d thought a bit about the little things like this over the last few days-- how he might be able to get Vulpes cleaned up without injuring the other man further, but really, he hasn't thought about it _enough._ For the most part it’s slipped his mind, quickly replaced by other thoughts up until now. “This is going to seem... a bit unorthodox,” He warns the other man, reaching out to slowly begin tugging the bedsheet down his chest. 

He starts with taking off the dressings around the more serious injuries along Vulpes’ body-- things like gashes and scrapes were fine to get wet, and he could just leave his leg out of the water for the bullet wound there-- but for his hip, he breaks out the roll of _waterproof_ bandaging, having to head back to the bathroom to even _find_ the stuff before snuggly securing it over the others injured skin. It's a rare commodity out here in the wasteland, though, so he only uses it on his hip-- where he absolutely _cannot_ afford to get water on the other man. Thankfully Vulpes is in luck, though, because years of being in the Followers has made Arcade _exceptionally_ good at making supplies last, and he knows just how to be stingy without compromising safety, with it.

“Honestly, it’d be easier to just have you shower,” Arcade grunts out, helping the other man stand so they can start heading for the bathroom. “But that’d be too hard on your leg, and I’m not trying to have you collapse on me.” He continues, mostly just speaking to fill the air as Vulpes sluggishly limps alongside him, hand tight on his shoulder. 

“...Handrail?” He asks after a moment, sounding breathless. Arcade chuckles quietly, shaking his head. 

“Hate to sound condescending, but with the way you are right now I doubt you could manage to hold yourself up, _and_ get clean at the same time.” He points out. Instead of sounding insulted though, Vulpes seems to agree, making a half-hearted sound of acceptance from the back of his throat. _That’s_ interesting. Arcade is used to people _over_ estimating their abilities, but Vulpes seemed to take his rant from the day before to heart, accepting Arcade’s assumptions of his abilities without a fight. 

Then again, was there even a fight to be had? He practically has to cling to Arcade just trying to _walk._

“...Fair enough.” He breathes out thereafter, letting Arcade help him sit on the edge of the tub before the doctor leans in to get the water running. 

“You’ll have to share some head-space with the faucet,” Arcade tells the other man, watching Vulpes’ sleepy eyes look down at him again. “Your left leg is injured, and the faucet is on the right side… you can do the math, I’m sure,” He hums softly, plugging up the tub so it can start to fill. “You’ll need to leave your left leg out over the edge-- _don’t_ get it wet.” He says, pausing to put more emphasis on his words, so that Vulpes wouldn’t miss it. 

“...Understood, Medicus.” Vulpes says in a breath, leaning his temple against the cool tile wall. 

“Good." Arcade huffs, "--Because if it _does_ get wet, then I’ll have to drain it for you, and trust me when I say you _don’t_ want me to have to do that.” He warns the other man, shifting to tug down his suspenders before unbuttoning the line of his shirt, revealing the tank top underneath it. He makes the mistake of glancing over at the other man, then, and seeing Vulpes’ eyes go a little sharper as they watch him. His face threatens to flush under that scrutinizing look, but he refuses to be intimidated-- he’s probably just overthinking it.

“Planning to… to join in, Doctor?” He slowly breathes out, and were it not for the genuine curiosity in his tone Arcade might have scoffed. Instead he simply looks at the other man, narrowing his eyes a little.

“No… I’m just… I’ll have to help you clean up, and I’d rather not get my clothes damp,” He explains, folding his shirt before placing it on the sink. “Here. Let me help you strip,” He comes in closer to the other man again, and really it’s not that difficult-- the only thing Vulpes has been wearing is a pair of boxers thus far-- just to keep his injuries more accessible. 

But even despite that, he still obediently lifts his hips for the doctor, letting himself be stripped with a sort of casualness that Arcade is _intensely_ thankful for, because it also makes _him_ feel a little more casual about it, too. 

Christ, you’d think after being a doctor so long you’d get used to seeing people naked, especially considering he’s been stuck in the _Legion_ of all places-- but if anything that’s made it _worse_ for him, because really the only people he sees naked _now_ are men that have spent their entire lives trying to achieve peak physical condition. He knows they're all horrible people-- _God_ does he know that-- but also he's _lonely_ , and it's been a long time, and it's only human for him to feel attraction even if he _hates_ the person it's directed towards. It's not like he'd ever willingly _choose_ to be attracted to Legion men; _no one_ would choose that. 

Which, knowing that fact is what leads him to averting his eyes once he’s gotten Vulpes stripped out of his clothes, even if the other man seems too tired, or _injured_ to care. 

Arcade wishes he could say getting the man in the water is a simple process, but it isn’t. He has to hook one arm around Vulpes’ waist, and rely on the _other man's_ strength to get _himself_ into the water. It’s a bit of a messy process, and by the time he’s settled in with his injured leg dangling out over the edge, Arcade is glad he took his over-shirt _off_ , because from his tank top, all the way down to his knees is splattered with water, as a result. 

“...Apologies, Medicus.” Vulpes whispers, one blue eye narrowly peering at him from where he’s partially turned away, one of his temples pressed to the cool tub faucet. Arcade is a bit surprised by the gentleness of his tone, but he doesn't comment on it-- it's probably not that Vulpes is being _intentionally_ sincere with him. It's actually more likely that the Med-x is just making him tired, and _that_ is why he sounds so soft-spoken-- it’s not anything to do with _Arcade,_ surely-- he’s certain of that much. 

“It’s fine." He says, regardless of the fact. "Not like you can really help it, right?” He continues on, speaking more to himself than Vulpes. 

It looks like trying to avert his gaze for politeness sake was a bit redundant in the end, however, because now he isn’t just looking, he’s _touching,_ too. Picking up a clean cloth before dipping it under the warm water, and dragging it down the line of Vulpes’ chest with practiced, gentle movements-- as if it was his own skin he was trying to take care of. The gentle touch only seems to amuse Vulpes, though, because he grasps Arcade’s hand by the wrist in a slow, lingering touch, looking up at the doctor with his head angled just slightly downwards. It gives a wonderful view of his eyelashes when Arcade actually deigns to look.

“I can wash myself, Doctor,” He murmurs, mirth clear in his tone as he seems to appraise Arcade, now, pale eyes flickering down, and slowly trekking back up again. Arcade swallows nervously, and then shakes his head, snorting through his nose to try and pretend that look _didn't_ just send a chill down his spine. Good lord, can this man stop being so intimidating for _five minutes?_

“Maybe... Maybe a week from now I’ll let you, but right now these gashes are still too raw to risk you accidentally scrubbing one,” He says in response, reaching out with his other hand to tug Vulpes’ fingers from his wrist, and settle it back into the water. The other man simply hums at that, but he doesn’t argue or shy away from Arcade’s prying touch, either. 

After that, he lathers the cloth with a bit of soap before he begins again, washing along the line of Vulpes’ chest. He's careful around the heavy scrapes over his collarbones, moving over the dip between the two of them before he moves lower, rubbing along the line of his pecs, his sternum, down lower…

The water ripples as the rag dips under the surface, mindlessly washing at the cradle of Vulpes’ stomach before he flinches when the other man jolts just barely, realizing he'd been staring off into space for too long, and accidentally rubbed against a scrape along the other man’s side in the process. 

“Sorry, sorry,” He quickly apologizes, pushing his glasses up before continuing. His face is mottled with a ruddy flush, and he’s not sure whether it’s the warmth slowly building in the room, or if it’s just how… _intimate_ this feels. He's managed to escape the mood of the room up until now with mindless little distractions, but he can't necessarily do that when he _should_ be paying attention to what he’s doing. The only issue with paying attention, however, is that it's unavoidable to notice how quiet it is, and how warm the air is, while the only sounds around are the water rippling, and Vulpes' relaxed breathing. It shouldn't feel so soothing to be doing this. It shouldn't feel so _inviting._   
  


Vulpes is not the first patient he’s ever had to help like this-- not the first man, either. Actually he’s far from it. Arcade’s done this plenty of times when he was a much more fresh-faced doctor within the Followers. He’d learned his way around the embarrassment most people felt, had found the balance between making sure a person was as comfortable as possible, while also letting him do his job-- namely in the form of small talk, and distractions. Those first few times with a new patient were _never_ as calm and relaxed as this feels, here and now, and there's something so profoundly _wrong_ with that thought. This isn't supposed to be easy, this isn't supposed to be _nice,_ not for him, and _certainly_ not for Vulpes. And yet...

And yet here, he doesn’t have to say hardly anything. There’s just the sounds of the water, and Vulpes’ steady breathing as he works. Arcade peers up at his face again, and finds his head is tipped back, eyes closed in relaxation. For a moment, Arcade wonders if he’s had this done to him before. Perhaps he was familiar with it from the shaky uncertainty of a slave's hand, rather than a meticulous doctor's? He bites his lip harshly then, feeling resentment build bitter in his chest at the thought. It cuts through the peaceful moment easily for him, instead making his face flush with anger, rather than the warmth he’d felt before. 

“...Doctor?” Vulpes speaks up, voice a bit groggy in a way that said he may have been close to falling asleep. It makes Arcade realize he’s gone still against him, and spurs him into continuing once more. He pushes the cloth further down, starts working his way along Vulpes’ left thigh in the process. 

“Sorry,” He continues moving the cloth over his skin, “Just lost in thought.” He explains, not elaborating beyond that. 

He falls silent for several minutes, eyes narrowed in quiet focus as he works. “...You seem incredibly relaxed,” Is what he continues with a moment later, and perhaps there’s a bit of suspicion in his tone, because Vulpes cuts a curious look towards him. 

“Am I supposed to be tense...?” He asks in return, and it’s an _infuriatingly_ simple response. 

“Well-- _no._ ” Arcade huffs, closing his eyes to avoid rolling them at the other man. “But, usually people are much more uncomfortable with this sort of thing. Have you experienced something like this, before?” He manages to clarify, finally asking the real question that was on his mind. He opens his eyes again to look back over at Vulpes after, glancing back to those pale eyes with a certain sharpness in his own. 

Vulpes seems to regard him a bit carefully, and his expression goes from groggy, and shifts into something more alert in a matter of seconds-- _the Med-x can’t already be wearing off, can it?_ No, no-- he _just_ gave him a dose, there's no way it's already wearing off. Vulpes is just... _convincing,_ when he looks like that. 

“No,” He answers then, and he sounds as though he isn’t sure where Arcade may have come up with such a thing. “I haven't. But, the water is warm, and your hands feel nice. Of course I'd be relaxed,” He adds after a moment, and Arcade feels his face flush at his words. Perhaps it’s because of his past ‘profligate ways’ or whatever, but the phrase _‘your hands feel nice’_ is not necessarily one he associates with _casual_ connotations. 

He’s almost distracted by it, actually-- but not enough to forget the answer to his question. Of course, Vulpes is a spy, and Arcade knows he could easily be lying; but, the confusion in his tone seemed real, and his confession was _just_ personal enough to make Arcade set his doubts to the side for now, if only a little bit. 

“That’s… that’s good to hear,” He responds, swallowing thickly as he turns his eyes back to the other man's body, working down the line of Vulpes' injured leg and carefully lifting his ankle. He does his best to clean around the wound on his calf, avoiding getting it wet in the process. Once he’s finished with the injured leg, he leans over the edge of the tub a bit to get at the one soaking in the water. Vulpes shifts obligingly, bending his knee so that the doctor will have an easier time trying to reach. The thoughtless gesture is starkly noticeable-- helpful to Arcade, and yet he can see the other man’s brow furrow with the slight pain it causes. 

He bites his lip at the sight, doing his best to finish with it quickly before working his way back up, starting again at the other man's shoulders. From his neck, he moves along the line of Vulpes’ arm, pausing to lather more soap onto the rag before continuing along his bicep.   
  


Arcade swears that he hates him, swears that he hates whatever _this_ is that’s going on with him now, too, because there is no way that Vulpes is genuinely just-- just like _this_ all the time. He’s an evil, evil man, and the list of the atrocities he’s committed is a mile long, at least. Arcade tries his best to remind himself of that fact. Nipton, Nelson, Searchlight... And all of those are just in the Mojave _alone._ He shivers to think of what he _doesn't_ know of, on the list, because he's certain it’s far more vast than his pacifistic heart could handle. 

And yet...

He holds the other's wrist in his fingers as he runs the cloth up the back of his hand, watching soap suds spread across the expanse of pale skin, there. 

_And yet._

It’s absurd to think _this_ is the same man that razed Nipton without a thought; that destroyed Nelson, and devastated Searchlight-- it’s utterly _ridiculous_ to think this man is the one that has ended countless other lives, and caused the suffering of even more. Because even though he _knows,_ he _knows_ it's all true-- when he looks to Vulpes' face again, and sees his eyes are closed, lips just slightly parted as his chest rises slow and steady with his breathing... deep down, it feels like it can't possibly be reality. He looks so relaxed under the fluorescent lights, and Arcade swallows hard at the sight. This is the same man that has killed so many, and yet he's not raised his voice _once_ in Arcade's direction. He's perhaps gotten irritated with him, but that hardly counted when he’d just woken from days of being asleep, likely in pain and disoriented-- and even _then,_ he’d never lashed out from frustration-- he's not even _argued_ with Arcade, really, and even the one time he did, he still _gave in_ by the end of it. 

It's only the second day he's really spent talking to the other man, and Arcade feels like he might barely be able to stand another _week,_ let alone the year or more he expects it to take. Is he just cursed to feel conflicted the entire time? He can barely stand it _now._ How is the supposed 'Fearless leader of the Frumentarii' one of the most _understanding_ patients he's ever had to take care of, even beating some of the clients he'd had with the _Followers?_

Arcade bites his lip again at the troubling thought, looking back up to Vulpes' face and finding him still so utterly _relaxed._ Part of him wants to check to make sure he's not sleeping, but he holds back from doing so at the last second. Instead he takes the moment to just pause, and let his eyes linger over the other man's relaxed features. He looks at those long lashes fluttered down against high cheekbones, and lingers over the soft, healthy flush along his face, matching the warm pink of his lips, just barely parted enough to reveal a glimmer of white teeth underneath...

He looks... _intensely_ beautiful. 

_No, not beautiful._ Arcade quickly tells himself. _He’s just... attractive. Beautiful is too dishonest._ He thinks, and really, it’s _not_ dishonest. Arcade knows that it's not, but the word ‘beautiful’ has been one of his favorites in life, used to describe some of his favorite memories, some of his favorite people _. Beautiful_ is the way the sun would set just outside of Freeside, on the days when it was so blisteringly hot while he was outside picking plants, and finally got a moment to himself just to watch it set. _Beautiful_ is when Daisy would call him in for dinner on a cool night, and they would sit by the dirty window while she told him stories about the world from before them. _Beautiful_ is the way Boone would look on the rare occasions Arcade said something _just_ funny enough, or _just_ sincere enough to get the other man to smile, before he quickly covered it up again, as if it was a secret meant for only the two of them. 

Really, it's not _dishonest_ to call Vulpes beautiful. But it's much too personal. 

Arcade continues to look over Vulpes, letting his eyes gaze over the full lips and prominent cheekbones and long, dark eyelashes. He thinks that he might have willingly called this man beautiful once, too. Perhaps in a different world, or a different time. But, the truth is, just as much as things can be beautiful, they can also be _dangerous._

  
“You have very elegant hands,” He comments quietly, and he doesn’t know _why_ he says it, running the cloth between the other man's fingers once he's finally torn his eyes away from his face. He can see Vulpes’ eyes blink open to peer up at him from the corner of his eye, and he raises an eyebrow when he processes Arcade’s words. 

“...A compliment, Doctor?” He asks, and really, Arcade isn’t sure _what_ he meant it as, so he simply shrugs, avoiding his eyes. 

“More of an observation,” He responds, and then that’s that. Vulpes nods, and lets the subject go despite the strange look he gives him. Arcade doesn't comment on it further, either. It's easy enough to ignore, despite the way his heart is beating in his throat.   
  


Eventually he finishes washing the other man, and he has Vulpes unplug the drain while he fetches a towel. It’s a struggle getting the other man up, and out of the tub-- his broken ribs are only a hindrance, but eventually Vulpes is leaning against the sink counter after some maneuvering, letting Arcade finally begin to help dry him off. 

Really, Vulpes _does_ have a beautiful body, even despite Arcade's desperate wish to _not_ think so-- But, as his hands dry down the line of his stomach, he can’t help but _notice._ He isn’t just muscles upon muscles like some Legionaries try to work towards. Rather, he’s lean and athletic, with just enough bulk in the right places that Arcade is almost _angry_ about how good he looks. It almost feels spiteful, in a way; like whatever deity watching over him just wanted to give him _one more_ middle-finger, in the form of making the one man he's stuck with for the next year or so-- who is the complete _opposite_ of his own morals-- both physically attractive, _and_ level-headed in a way most of his patients were _not,_ this early into recovery. 

“It is... _strange..._ to see you kneeling.” Vulpes’ voice drags him out of his angry turmoil, and he peers up at the man from over the rim of his glasses. His tone sounds conversational, but Arcade can’t say he _doesn’t_ dread hearing that sentence in particular. It’s especially harrowing now that he _is_ kneeling, carefully drying the area around his injured calf before he pauses. 

“...Is it, now.” He asks flatly, furrowing his eyebrows as if to dare the other man to say something else about it. Yet, Vulpes throws him off again when he only chuckles, and shakes his head. 

“You hardly bowed to _Caesar_ without a fight,” He says in explanation, and Arcade isn’t sure how he feels about the warm amusement in the other man’s tone. _Just one more middle-finger._ He bitterly thinks. “...I just thought it interesting, Doctor. I mean nothing by it,” He finishes, and Arcade pushes himself up to stand again when he does, feeling a little better for the fact Vulpes has to look up to meet his eyes. 

“Perhaps your _interest_ is misguided, then,” He responds, tone haughty. “Stooping to help someone is different from kneeling in obedience. They _aren’t_ the same.” He sternly finishes, pinning Vulpes with a look before he loops the towel around the other man's waist. 

“Of course, Medicus,” Vulpes hums, still sounding warm despite the scowl on Arcade’s face. 

\---

They manage to make it back to the bedroom in one piece, and Arcade helps Vulpes slip into another pair of boxers before seating him on the mattress, where the other man deigns to ask for a shirt, as well. 

“Oh? Can you put this on by yourself, now?” Arcade asks, sarcasm dripping from his tone as Vulpes takes the offered shirt from his hold, huffing a quiet laugh at his scathing tone, seeming not the slightest bit bothered by it, despite Arcade’s attempts to do so. 

“Perhaps,” He hums, a small, amused smile quirking his lips. “But, would you help me do it, regardless?” Arcade's mouth clicks shut at that, blinking down at the other man in surprise, and then embarrassment when he realizes it's a sincere request. He frowns, but comes closer again regardless, decidedly gentle despite his biting tone from before when he helps Vulpes slide his bruised arms through first, and then over his head before he's gingerly brushing Arcade's hands away to tug the fabric down over himself.

It really is too easy to forget just how injured he is. 

And here Arcade had been, trying to antagonize the man with biting words and snippy tones-- he’d thought for certain it would irritate him eventually; wipe that soft expression off his face that Arcade has _no_ idea how to respond to-- 

Though, when Vulpes is dressed to his own wishes and settled back in bed, Arcade is finally able to leave him to get some more rest-- possibly sleep through the effects of the Med-x until it’s time to eat dinner, next. He feels a little more calm once he’s finally able to _walk away_ from the other man. No longer chained to his side by necessity. It gives him a chance to finally cool down, and smooth out that irritation that had steadily been building inside of himself.   
  


In the meantime, Arcade settles himself on the couch, legs stretched out over the cushions as he tries to focus on reading. The book in his hands is a bit molded from water damage, and time, but the words are impressively clear as he focuses on them. He’s hoping that the time will pass itself as he checks the window, but every time he seeks the sun out through the glass it feels like only minutes have passed since the last time he looked.

Eventually he lets out a small sigh, reaching up and pinching the bridge of his nose. Even now that he’s alone, it feels like he wouldn't be able to clear his head even if he spent the rest of the day trying. _Wonderful._

However, like any stubborn man such as him, he continues to try and focus on the book he's holding, and doesn't give up until he finds himself re-reading the same line for the fourth time in a row. He realizes then that he'd spent an uncertain amount of time reading the pages, only to find he couldn't remember a single thing he's just read. He groans softly at the realization, letting his head fall back against the armrest as he stares up at the ceiling. It seems like his mind is just destined to wander, right now, and he lays the book face-down over his stomach as he taps his fingers over the spine in an idle, baseless rhythm. Finally he gives in, and decides to just _let_ himself think.

He thinks about today-- and more specifically, about _Vulpes._ The other man was clearly beginning to get more and more coherent, even in the short two days he's been mostly conscious for; and while that's _good,_ and he _hasn't_ been overtly terrible to Arcade in thus far, he still finds himself feeling nervous thinking about the future for him, and for himself, too. As much as Arcade hates to admit it, Vulpes has been incredibly understanding with him up until now, even though, given the circumstance he has every reason not to be. Recovery is _hard,_ and he knows it probably _sucks_ to have to be taken care of so completely, like this. Not to mention the fact Arcade's bedside manner is... well, pretty atrocious, considering how he’d acted earlier-- though he can’t even fault _himself_ for that, also considering who _he's_ dealing with... but, even despite all of that, Vulpes has _listened_ to him, more than anything else. Hell, he's already been easier to take care of than Caesar had been, and Caesar had been _unconscious_ for most of _his_ recovery time.   
  


But... None of that changes the fact he’s still, and likely will _always_ be, Vulpes Inculta. 

Arcade lets his gaze skate off to the side, stomach turning restlessly as he thinks about it. He recalls Caesar’s words from before, once again-- speaking about the _other_ men who had held the same title. He still just doesn't _get it._ This isn't supposed to be _easy_ for himself-- Vulpes isn't supposed to listen, or be lenient, or give Arcade space to work. This is supposed to be _difficult,_ and _horrible,_ and just another trial for Arcade to merely _survive_ through-- It's not supposed to be alright. _None_ of this is supposed to be alright. It's not even a matter of Arcade thinking he _deserves_ to suffer-- because he _doesn't_ think he deserves the life he has, he doesn't think _anyone_ deserves to be captured by the Legion. It's the fact that he knows becoming _comfortable_ is the means to becoming _complacent._

Arcade would prefer death before he ever accepts the Legion-- would prefer it _any day_ to becoming _content_ with their brutality and principles. Sure, perhaps his stubbornness has taken a heavy toll on him in this last year or so, but as a result of his quiet noncompliance, he's at least remained _himself._ How many others could say the same?

Vulpes coughs from the other room, the sound coming out pained and breathless. It catches him by surprise, breaking him out of his thoughts as he sits up to look towards the open door, only settling down when he realizes the other man has gone still, again. For another moment he looks back up to the ceiling, and then he shifts, swinging his legs over the sides of the cushions to plant his feet on the ground. He sets the book in his hand onto the coffee table, and takes a moment to rub at his eyes, letting out a soft breath of frustration. 

_Let the injured sleep._ He thinks to himself, feeling the beginning of a headache coming on. _Your turmoil is not his responsibility, no matter how much you want to blame him for it._

He knows that already, he _knows._


	5. A Waiting Consequence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!!! Thank you so much for being patient with me after my small disappearance-- I was focusing on schoolwork, but hey, that paid off in the end because now I have officially graduated! Also PHEW this chapter was a beast to edit. Thank you all for the support over the last month, the comments you guys left on the last chapter really helped me keep my motivation up for this one!! and as usual, feel free to leave a comment if you enjoy the story!

It feels like the same routine every day. 

Of course, it changes depending on what Vulpes needs, or doesn’t need on any given day, but it’s always based around the same things. Then again, of course it is.

So far it’s been a week since the other man first woke up, and up until now it’s been  _ tolerable, _ horribly enough. 

Arcade talks, cooks, cleans; he checks Vulpes’ wounds and makes sure the other man is taken care of. 

For the most part, Vulpes listens, lies in bed, and lets Arcade tell him what to do with little complaint. 

Really, that’s a feat in itself, isn’t it? The man is incredibly frustrating, even as he acts like any doctor’s dream patient. He’s doing everything Arcade could want from him-- being polite, cordial,  _ patient.  _ He lets himself be cared for in a way even people left  _ untouched  _ by years upon years of the Legions lessons would struggle to be comfortable with. 

Arcade wishes he could say that he was enjoying that fact, but he _isn’t._ There’s something so _strange_ about the passiveness. It makes him uneasy-- as though Vulpes is aware of something he isn’t, even if the other man makes no allusions to this idea, himself. Arcade just doesn’t _get it._ How can someone that was essentially the _face_ of the Legion be so… so _easy going_ about all this? How can he tolerate having to be helped at every instance, when the Legion lives and _breathes_ the idea that weakness should be punished? How can he relax into Arcade’s clinical touch even _after_ he’d spoken so briefly about the lengths he might go to punish _himself_ for weakness, and failure? Of course, he could blame the argument he’d first had with the other man about the Med-x, but he’d assumed Vulpes was merely too tired, and in pain to fight him on the subject for very long, as opposed to actually _believing_ Arcade. Perhaps that may still be the case, but he would at least expect the other man to show _some_ sign of dislike, or irritation towards him _._ Even if not at the situation itself, then surely at the way Arcade’s been treating him. 

That depth of that steady, calm indifference is almost inhumane.

\---

“I don’t understand you,” Arcade finally breaks the silence one afternoon, in the middle of examining some of the more healed scrapes and lacerations along Vulpes’ side. He would have expected the other man’s eyes to open almost immediately, but he makes no move to respond, and eventually Arcade's eyes flicker upwards to check if Vulpes had even  _ heard  _ him. Instead of the alertness he expects, however, he sees the other man's eyes closed, a peaceful expression on his face. Arcade swallows down the lump in his throat at the sight, internally debating with himself before he gives in, and repeats his statement again. This time he hears it as Vulpes hums a questioning note in answer. He sounds drowsy as he slowly blinks his eyes open, those sleepy blues taking a moment to seek Arcade out as he does. Though, his expression isn’t one of annoyance as much as it is  _ exhaustion, _ even despite the fact the only thing he’s been doing for the last two weeks is resting. 

His features look… lighter, softened from sleep and food and, also probably the chem in his system, if the size of his pupils are anything to go by. 

“I… I don’t get you,” Arcade says again, finally tearing his eyes away to look back towards the large scrape along his side. “You told me before that you would have  _ starved  _ yourself for failure-- and I’m sure that sentiment extends to many  _ other  _ forms of self-harm or mutilation, but…” He clears his throat, feeling anxiety trying to claw it's way up his chest. “...But you act like…  _ this.  _ You let yourself be cared for. You don’t even get  _ angry  _ at me for helping you, or bossing you around. What gives?” He finally manages to spit it out, ripping off the proverbial band-aid before he can lose his nerve. The moment he does, he bites his lip, rushing to busy himself by fiddling with a roll of bandages before he can bring himself to regret it. 

Despite  _ finally  _ finding the nerve to ask, Arcade still isn't entirely sure he  _ wants  _ to know what the answer is, even after the several days he's been thinking about it. The possibility of the answer being unpleasant for him in some way was pretty damn high, after all-- not to mention the fact that there is also the possibility that there  _ is  _ no answer, and that he's just been wasting his time feeling paranoid over nothing, these last few days. He’s stuck in that horrible middle ground between wanting to know, and being nervous to know the truth at the same time. 

_ Too late to take it back now, though.  _ He thinks, focusing his attention on tearing off a clean bandage, and using it across the other man’s scraped up side. For a long moment, Vulpes doesn’t say anything. The sounds of shuffling fabric fill the air before Arcade’s eyes flicker up to the other man's face again, worried by the silence. Briefly, he wonders if he'd actually fallen asleep again, before he catches those pale blue eyes staring up at the ceiling, narrowed slightly in a look of contemplation.

“...You are Caesar’s physician.” He says after the long moment, voice splintering between his normal tone, and drowsy breathlessness. “I can assume you would not help me unless… unless my Lord called for it.” He continues on, eyes slowly closing again. His brow pinches in slightly, and Arcade wonders if it’s from pain, or personal discomfort. It’s possible that the idea of Caesar doing such a thing bothers him-- but again, Arcade could just be overthinking it. 

“Yeah, I can’t really say I’m a _big_ _fan_ of yours, personally...” He huffs quietly in response, but even as he does his expression is still mottled with concern. Though, even now, Vulpes’ lips seem to twitch upwards in amusement.

“I’m aware.” He breathes, shifting his head against the pillow with that same slight smile. “But,  _ you  _ were the one to save my life, weren’t you...?” He asks next, and it’s honestly a bit startling when he looks down at Arcade then. His eyes are sharp in a way that  _ should,  _ and usually  _ would  _ feel dangerous, but all it really does right now is tell Arcade he's more coherent than he'd initially thought-- it's clear that Vulpes is actually  _ seeing  _ him right now. It just remains to be seen whether that’s a good thing, or not. 

“...Well, Siri helped as well,” He gently corrects the other man, sounding a bit awkward before Vulpes lets out a soft huff in response, gaze sliding to the side.

“I care not about who  _ helped  _ you, Doctor. You…  _ You  _ are the one caring for me now, are you not?” It’s spoken with surprising finality despite the state of his voice, coming out breathless, and a bit strained, though Arcade still wants to protest it. “I would not waste your efforts by making my recovery a needlessly…  _ difficult  _ process.” He takes a moment to catch his breath, and Arcade’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline at that admission. 

“So… It’s a personal responsibility, to you?” He asks after, unable to help his own curiosity. He knows the longer-winded conversation is likely a bit of a hassle for the other man, but Vulpes hums softly regardless, falling quiet again for several moments after. There’s a steely look in his eyes now, pale blue still so startling compared to the red of his sclera. 

“...I owe my life to you, Doctor,” He finally speaks up again, unexpectedly earnest as his gaze rises to meet Arcade’s eyes. “I would not dare make your efforts in vain. Caesar still… He still has need of me.” He breathes out.

Arcade blinks at that, letting his eyes flicker away from Vulpes as he takes that in. "But… But how do you _know?_ How do you know he still needs you?" Arcade asks before he can stop himself. "You haven't seen him _once_ since you've woken up..." He continues on, furrowing his eyebrows at the other man. That seems to inspire a slight pause in Vulpes' thoughts, because he falls silent again, another look of consideration on his face. He stares at Arcade with half-lidded eyes, seeming to quietly appraise his expression. Arcade isn’t sure what he sees, there.

Another beat of quiet passes between them. 

"Because he sent you." Is what Vulpes finally answers with, pale eyes practically burning a hole into him. It's an answer that nearly knocks the wind out of Arcade, and had he not been entirely,  _ painfully  _ aware of where he was, and who he was speaking to, he might have admitted to the slight flush of warmth crawling up his collar as a result. Arcade had known, of  _ course  _ he had-- why would Vulpes be laid up on bed rest with his own personal doctor on hand, if not for the fact Caesar wished for it? He knew the answer already, and yet Vulpes still managed to catch him off guard. He could have easily listed the numerous  _ other  _ reasons why it was obvious, but instead he'd focused solely on  _ Arcade,  _ as if that was the only justification he needed. 

_ Wow. _ He has to know how… how  _ intimate  _ that sounded, right? There's no way that sort of statement just… slipped his mind as something normal... _ right?  _ _   
  
_

"Is... Is that so," Arcade manages, coughing into his hand in an attempt to clear his throat when he realizes how strained his voice sounded. He quickly settles himself again, sitting back a bit to adjust his glasses as he looks down at Vulpes, still feeling a flush crawling along the nape of his neck despite himself.  _ Great.  _ “Is that the only reason you need?” He continues a moment after, managing to force his tone into something semi-normal, again. 

“Yes." It's an  _ immediate  _ response, one that Vulpes either doesn't realize, or merely doesn't  _ comment  _ on the effect of, if he  _ does  _ notice the slight blush on Arcade’s face... "He holds your talents in high regard. It is a privilege to be… to be under your care.” Vulpes speaks with stark clarity on the matter, even despite the slight breathlessness in his voice. Arcade swallows hard, and looks away in that moment, finding Vulpes’ tone, and the way he’s  _ looking  _ at him entirely too much to deal with.  _ Damn  _ those sharp eyes...

“You know, of all the things I expected you to say, waxing poetics about my  _ value  _ was not one of them,” he drawls, attempting to lighten the tension of the room with his deadpan delivery-- although he ends up sounding much more unsteady than he’d like to admit. 

“It is not poetic, it’s very literal.” Vulpes quickly assures him, and Arcade actually might have chuckled at that if the other hadn’t sounded entirely, frustratingly  _ serious. _ “This… My patience for this situation is not personal, if that’s what you are afraid of,” He continues, swallowing hard as he shifts over the pillows, trying to ease himself into a more comfortable position. “Shame and anger would be entirely useless to both of us right now. No, _ right now _ Caesar wants me to recover, and there will be time for self-reflection later, regardless.” 

Arcade blinks in slight surprise, and then looks off to the side again as he contemplates the other man’s words. He's not certain what he should even  _ say  _ to something like that. Is it… Is it really that simple to him? Is it normal for him to just…  _ 'turn off'  _ emotions that aren't considered  _ ‘useful’? _ “I… I see,” He manages, and, strangely, it actually helps to put things  _ more  _ into perspective, for Arcade. 

The thought of Vulpes routinely doing that, to the point where it seems entirely  _ normal  _ to him… it's concerning from a psychological standpoint, but it also gives Arcade a bit of a foothold in terms of understanding the other man a bit better. Anyone that considers emotions as 'tools' based on application, and  _ usefulness  _ is obviously going to be pretty damn hard to evaluate-- it explains why Arcade's had so much trouble reading him for the last few days, if nothing else.

Vulpes continues to peer up at him with narrowed eyes, quietly watching as Arcade thinks. "Are you satisfied with that answer?” He asks, voice quieter than before. It isn't a confrontational question at all from the sound of it, yet Arcade still bites his lip, finding himself staring at a particularly interesting spot of carpet a few feet away, once he comes back to the present.

Really, it's not so much the fact that Arcade  _ doesn't  _ understand what Vulpes is saying-- he  _ does, _ he feels like he actually  _ fully  _ understands what he's saying-- it's more that he doesn't understand how it's  _ functional.  _ Who can just shut off their emotions at will like that? Who can just  _ decide  _ that they aren't going to be upset, or embarrassed, simply because it isn't 'useful' to their situation?  _ No one _ should work, or even  _ think _ that way _.  _ Arcade shakes his head again, letting out a soft sigh.

“I’m… I’m not certain, myself. That’s a lot to take in,” He quietly admits. “I mean, I feel like I understand you a little better, now," he continues, watching Vulpes' eyebrows raise as he speaks. "I  _ also  _ suppose I should have guessed you weren’t being nice out of any  _ personal  _ affinity for me,” He huffs dryly, "It's not like  _ I'm  _ doing all of this out of any personal reason, either... Aside from maybe being too scared to suffer the consequences, if I don't..." He bites his lip again when he says that, perhaps not really  _ meaning  _ to admit that out loud, even though it's true. It  _ is  _ true. So painfully true, and yet still so much more complicated than just that, at the same time. Vulpes lets out a hum of intrigue then, seeming to consider that as he watches Arcade’s expression.

"So, you do this out of fear?" He clarifies, turning the questioning onto Arcade before gazing up to the ceiling. "I suppose that's no surprise. You have spent most of your life running for the same reason, have you not?" He continues then, and he says it so casually that Arcade  _ almost  _ doesn't catch it. But, he pauses after a split second, and quickly goes still.  _ What… What did he say?  _ Arcade thinks, stalled in place as he looks to Vulpes' face, still upturned towards the ceiling as if he had not spoken at all. 

"Excuse me?" Is the first thing he can think to blurt out, eyes slightly widened in uncertainty as he watches the other man. It takes him a moment to process the full extent of his words, but when he begins to realize, his pulse begins to speed up. Arcade isn't sure whether or not it's warranted, but that tell-tale anxiety is beginning to drip down into his stomach like a leaky faucet, slowly increasing the pressure. It was the same feeling he'd get when on the cusp of having to deal with a particularly unsavory confrontation, and yet Vulpes had spoken as if he hadn't said anything out of the ordinary to begin with. Even now, he peers back down at Arcade with a strange look, as if not certain as to why he was faltering. 

_ Am I overthinking this?  _ He wonders briefly, pausing to think back to the other man’s words yet again, only to find them just as nerve wracking.  _ Shit, am I being paranoid again?  _ He thinks next, though part of him really wants to ring the alarm bells despite that hesitance.  _ How many circumstances can you possibly apply 'spending most of your life running away from consequences' to?  _ He frantically thinks.  _ There isn't some big list of things you're running from, Arcade. It's always been one thing.  _

"...What did you say?" He repeats himself, trying to make his voice sound firmer despite the anxiety beginning to build in his chest. Dammit, why is it so damn hard to just  _ act normal  _ when he feels panicked like this? You’d think after a year of being chained to Caesar’s side he would have become a better actor, but right now he feels he may as well be transparent. 

Vulpes can definitely tell he's panicking-- god, of  _ course  _ he can-- This is the same man that can read even some of the subtlest shifts in tone, or wording... it's not as though Arcade is making his job  _ hard  _ for him. 

"...You are afraid of consequence. Afraid of pain," Vulpes speaks up after a moment, still steadily watching him with a careful look-- and that's probably the worst part. That unwavering  _ stare.  _ He feels almost  _ painfully  _ seen by the other man right now, and the urge to flee is rising by the second. It would be so easy to stand up and walk away, to go somewhere that Vulpes' eyes couldn't follow him, and yet he feels rooted in place, unable to move even though he desperately  _ wants  _ to. "You've spent most, if not all of your life running from a past that didn't belong to you, from crimes you didn't commit... This... is a fact, is it not?" He hums, sounding as though he was genuinely  _ asking. _ Arcade blinks a few times at that, at a loss for words when Vulpes' eyes level with his. He has no idea what his own expression must look like right now, but he feels his cheek twitch, and looks away, struggling to get his nerves back under control again. 

_ For once it couldn't just be paranoia, could it.  _ His mind reels, abruptly realizing the anxiety building in his chest was not just from his overactive imagination, but that it is actually  _ entirely  _ warranted, this time. Arcade clenches his hands into the fabric of his pants, scrunching it up before letting it go again. Vulpes knows. Vulpes  _ knows. _

_ Fuck. _

"You... You actually know." He breathes, struggling to speak around the painful lump in his throat. "You really, genuinely  _ know?” _ He says again, this time as a question of disbelief, as he turns his head to look at the other man again. It's moments like this that make him almost painfully aware of the leather collar still looped around his neck, finding it only making his throat feel  _ tighter _ . 

"Of course I know." Vulpes says under his breath, eyebrows furrowing. Really, it's as if he doesn't realize the depth of what that means to Arcade-- a fact which is  _ absolutely  _ not true. Arcade refuses to believe that  _ Vulpes Inculta,  _ of all people, doesn't understand just what it means for him to know about his past--  _ especially _ to him. 

Or... maybe it's  _ not  _ that Vulpes doesn't understand-- maybe it's more that he thinks it should have been  _ obvious.  _ Obvious that he already knew from the start. 

"...I am the greatest of Caesar's Frumentarii, it is my  _ job _ to know." Vulpes continues after a moment, lips forming a grim line as he takes in Arcade’s expression. It seems he’s realized the severity of the other man’s inner turmoil, then, because for several minutes he doesn't speak, just allowing Arcade to try and process it all in silence. It’s funny, because the tone he’d spoken with had almost sounded… apologetic. As if it would give the other man reassurance, knowing  _ that _ wasn’t personal, as well.    
  


It doesn’t.   
  


Arcade can't even begin to think of a response. How long has Vulpes known? How long has the  _ Legion  _ been aware of his lineage? Of his  _ past?  _ Shame and fear begin to form a pit in his stomach, and he tries desperately to swallow the lump in his throat before it can choke him. 

So.  _ This  _ was what the feeling from before was about-- that paranoid idea that Vulpes knew something he didn't. Turns out it wasn't paranoia at all, and that's so, so much  _ worse.  _ Worse still, is the fact that Arcade is completely, irrevocably  _ certain  _ of the fact that Vulpes didn't come by this information recently, either. No, he's known for a long,  _ long  _ time, and Arcade never picked up on it  _ once. _

"...How long have you known...?" He asks then, clearly still struggling under the weight of the news. Vulpes' head tilts to press his cheek to the pillow, and his gaze slides off towards the far wall, as if recalling a memory. 

"I… I have known ever since you first affiliated yourself with the Courier." He answers after a beat, only interrupted by the brief shudder of breath he takes. For a moment, Arcade feels all the fight sweep out of him, any anger and fear he felt before quickly being replaced with resignation. 

_ No. Stop that.  _ He frantically thinks,  _ Resignation is the first step towards complacency.  _

Shockingly enough, the only thing  _ that  _ thought provokes is the want to tell his mind to shut the  _ hell up  _ for once. It's not humanly possible to spend all day every day fighting-- he knows that, he's known it for a long time, and right now he can't help but feel so goddamn  _ resigned  _ as he stares off at a spot of carpet a few feet away. How is he supposed to not feel the weight of this? How is he supposed to keep playing defiant when he feels so, so  _ tired? _ _   
  
_

Vulpes has always known. He's probably known since the first moment the Courier stepped into the Old Mormon Fort.   
  


"...Did you... Did you investigate  _ everyone  _ that was with…?" Arcade asks, suddenly breathless as the reality begins to catch up with him. He needs to stop thinking about himself for five minutes, and consider the people around him, too. He was far from being the only person affiliated with the Courier, did that mean Vulpes kept tabs on  _ them, _ too? How far did it extend?  _ How much does he know? _

"That was with… who? Our Courier, or the Enclave?" Vulpes asks, making Arcade's heart lurch to hear  _ both  _ of those names, again. "I suppose it doesn't matter which you meant, the answer is yes either way," he trails off a moment later, voice dropping lower as he glances away again. 

Arcade feels  _ sick. _

All that running, all that hiding, and it still amounted to the same damn thing in the end, didn't it? Bile rises up in the back of his throat, and he's acutely aware of the fact he's beginning to shut down-- or, well, he's been panicking the whole time, but it's  _ worse,  _ now. "You mean I'm not  _ special?  _ What a shame." He quickly says, sounding brittle, and bitter as he closes his eyes, brows furrowed as he wills himself to just  _ breathe. _

Why did it all wait to come up  _ now,  _ a year into his captivity? What satisfaction came from waiting to tell him, like this? How many people  _ know?  _ Does  _ Caesar  _ know? He can't imagine the man does-- he would have given it away by  _ now, _ surely. His mouth is bigger than his head, and he's made no small effort out of taunting Arcade in the past…

But... What does it mean if Caesar  _ doesn't  _ know? Or… is this all happening  _ now  _ because everyone  _ already  _ knows, and Arcade just didn't pick up on it? He can't imagine that's the case-- there's… there's no  _ way  _ it would only be coming up  _ just now  _ if it was, right? Arcade would have known, he would have noticed  _ something,  _ right?

"Medicus," Vulpes' voice cuts through the whirl of Arcade's panicked thoughts, slowly drawing his attention back to him, and away from the distress he feels building inside of him. "I did not intentionally single you out-- as I said before, it is my job to observe." He continues, "I know of all the Courier's past companions, as well as their history. I also know of many of the various groups across the Mojave… and beyond it. Even  _ without  _ your connection to the Enclave, I would have found them eventually." Arcade feels a chill run down the length of his spine, heart beating much too fast for his own tastes as he looks at Vulpes with widened eyes. 

_ 'I would have found them eventually.'  _

Arcade feels a tremor in his bones at the implications of that sentence, and he's not sure if that was supposed to make him feel better, or  _ worse.  _ The idea that Arcade could have led the Legion right to his family just by  _ affiliation  _ is an incredibly troubling one, but the idea that they would have been found  _ regardless  _ is more chilling than anything else he could  _ imagine. _

"But… Does... Does that mean you know..." Arcade bites his lip, and he can't bring himself to finish the rest of his question as he looks away. Vulpes seems to understand what he means, regardless.

"...That I know what happened to them?" He guesses, correctly, at that. "...I know of some. Others were not important enough to keep track of." He hums, folding his hands over his stomach. Arcade feels as though he might be sick from the anxiety he feels clawing at his chest. It's been half a year since he's even  _ heard  _ about any of the others, and even longer since he's seen them. His eyes find Vulpes again as he glances back, and for a horrible, stomach-turning moment, he can't decide whether or not he wants to  _ ask _ .

Would Vulpes even tell him, if he did?

"Doctor," Arcade peers up again, not realizing his gaze had fallen to the wayside in his brief moment of fear. "You've gone pale." Vulpes tells him, sounding calm, yet firmer than before. It snaps Arcade out of his reverie in the moment, and he tries to drag himself back to the surface enough to speak again, although Vulpes continues before he can find his voice. "...Are you afraid?" He asks, tone dipping lower. It's a bit reminiscent of that first time he'd helped Vulpes in the bath a few days ago, when he'd seemed so much softer, and so much more like a  _ real person  _ instead of a monster. Arcade has no idea how to respond to it-- one half of him wants to blush, and then  _ all the rest _ of him wants to  _ bolt. _

_ There’s nowhere to bolt to, Arcade.  _ He thinks, beginning to sweat.  _ You’d have to come back eventually, no matter what. _

"You know the Legion does not  _ care  _ about the Enclave, nor anyone-- nor anyone 'associated' with it, yes?" Vulpes continues on, managing to sit up a bit to get a closer look at him. Arcade  _ should  _ reach for him, should push him back to lay on the pillows so he doesn't injure himself further, yet he can't bring himself to move. "Doctor Gannon? Are you listening?" 

_Yes._ _No._ Arcade looks away from the other man, cursing himself for the way his heart beats in his throat, against the stifling leather collar-- threatening to choke him. "Don't call me that." He says immediately, eyes snapping back up to Vulpes' in an instant. " _No one_ calls me that." He continues. Vulpes’ eyebrows raise at the sudden demand, clearly surprised, but Arcade doesn't care.

It's not even  _ about  _ his past anymore, and yet it still feels like too much to listen to the other man right now-- the thought that  _ any  _ group or faction could simply  _ not care  _ is too outlandish, too far away from his already far away life from before. It's simply too much to comprehend, thinking that the  _ Legion  _ would be the one place to grace him with mercy for his past. It's wrong, it's so mind-numbingly  _ wrong  _ that Arcade isn't sure whether it's a matter of  _ not  _ believing, or not being  _ capable  _ of believing, on his part. 

That's not even the  _ problem  _ here, though-- he doesn't give a shit what the Legion thinks of the Enclave, right now. The  _ problem  _ is that he suddenly has the opportunity to  _ maybe  _ find out the fates of his friends and family, and yet he's too damn scared to  _ take  _ it. Arcade bites his lip hard in that moment, feeling a swell of emotion in his chest that makes it even harder to breathe. 

"Apologies, Medicus..." Vulpes breathes, clearly alert, yet trying to diffuse the tension. His brows furrow, and it's as if he can  _ hear  _ the thoughts in Arcade's head rapidly spiraling out of control when he reaches out, grasping his wrist in his hand. It's a firm, solid touch, and Arcade jolts as if burned, snapping to look down at it. "Listen to me." Vulpes speaks again, tone stern as he pulls his wrist closer, settling back against the pillows again. "The fact you are considered 'Enclave' does not matter, here. You are under the Legion now.  _ That  _ is what matters." He squeezes Arcade's wrist then, and it's as if he truly was attempting to... to  _ comfort  _ him with that thought, rather than torment. "Doctor..." Vulpes begins again, voice growing softer, punctuated by the way his fingers flex into Arcade's wrist, feeling his rapid pulse through his fingertips. "The NCR cannot reach you, here." 

That sentence rings through Arcade's mind like a tidal wave, and he is wholly unprepared for the way his heart stalls upon hearing it. 

_ The NCR cannot reach you, here.  _ His mind echoes, and it feels like both a reassurance, and a  _ threat.  _

The difference between  _ Don't worry, they won't catch you, here.  _ And  _ They'll never be able to help you.  _ Is where that sentence splits between meanings. Arcade isn't certain what fate is worse anymore-- Being found out, or never being found  _ at all.  _

It's clear that Vulpes was trying to  _ comfort  _ him in saying that, though. It's likely that he thinks Arcade doesn't  _ want  _ to be found, and maybe, on the surface, he's  _ right  _ to assume as much. How hard had he tried to cover his tracks? How hard had he fought, and how long had he run, and how guarded had he tried to keep himself for all these years, for the express purpose of  _ not _ being found? Of  _ course _ Vulpes thinks he doesn’t want to be found-- he doesn’t, but the other man doesn’t seem to realize he wanted to avoid that same thing from more than just the NCR. He’d wanted to avoid it from  _ everyone. _

Arcade takes a deep breath, and closes his eyes again. Vulpes is still holding onto his wrist in a tight, grounding touch-- as if he might run away if he doesn't-- Actually, no. That's a ridiculous comparison. Vulpes  _ knows  _ he won't run, he knows Arcade hasn't run for a long,  _ long  _ time-- it's more accurate to say it's as though he thinks Arcade  _ needs  _ him to hold on, right now; like he might unravel beyond repair if he doesn't.

"...Why," Is all he manages to get out, swallowing hard as he drags his gaze up to Vulpes' face. "Why doesn't it  _ matter?"  _ He breathes, twisting his wrist in the other man's hold to try and break away. It doesn’t work. 

"...Your ties to the Enclave?" Vulpes asks then, one brow raising, "Caesar holds no care for the Enclave. They are a dying breed." He answers honestly. Arcade would appreciate it more if it didn't feel like a slap to the face to hear. He levels a glare at the other man in that moment, frowning deeply. "It's the truth, Doctor." He says, at least having the decency to  _ look  _ apologetic, as he does. "Your… Your past roots do not matter any more than mine, nor Lucius', nor Caesar's himself, great as he is…” Vulpes breathes out, reaching up to cup a hand over the side of his chest, right over a couple of his broken ribs as he tries to take a deep breath. “We are  _ all  _ Legion, Medicus. Where you come from does not matter anymore. It has not mattered for a long time." He finally finishes, still holding to his wrist. Arcade would be trying to pull away still if the touch wasn't… actually somewhat grounding, despite the person giving it.

The air around them is tense, almost painfully so, for the several minutes they're both quiet. Vulpes is still looking at him, still watching, and Arcade refuses to match that stare. There are so many things he wants to say, so many things he needs to process, and understand, and yet he can't bring himself to  _ move.  _ Can’t bring himself to speak. 

_ I want to know. _

But is it worth it?

_ I don't want to know. _

But can you live with yourself if you don't?   
  
...

_ I need to hear it. _ _   
  
_

"...What did you do to the others?" He whispers after another long moment of tension, and he can’t bring himself to raise his voice any louder as he finally finally manages to look up into the other man’s eyes. A brief flash of pain passes over Arcade’s face, and he swallows hard as Vulpes' expression morphs as well. It's a less comforting look than before-- if  _ any  _ look of his could be comforting, that is-- His expression looks more impassive now, less affected, despite the still-there furrow to his brows. He’s contemplating something. 

_ 'What did you do to the others.' _

Not  _ 'What happened to the others?'  _

_ What did you do to them. _

Vulpes continues to watch him for a long moment after that.

"I observed." He answers, a far away look coming to his eyes. Arcade sucks in a sharp breath.

…

_ Fine. _

\---

It's a sunny afternoon, a few days later when Caesar visits again. 

"How is he faring?" The older man asks, regarding Arcade with a calm look as he holds a quickly cooling mug of tea in his hands. It's something Arcade himself had recommended while he'd been recovering from brain surgery-- One of those pesky little health tips that had turned into a habit, so it seemed.

Arcade steeps his own tea bag a few more times, keeping his gaze averted, and pointed towards the window. "As well as he should be, I suppose." He hums, perfectly polite, yet with no small amount of professional distance to his words. 

Things have been...  _ different  _ since his conversation with Vulpes those few days ago-- well, as different as things could be, considering they were never really normal to start with. Caesar doesn't seem to notice the strange new twinge to Arcade’s posture, or the way he clenches his jaw-- and if he does, he certainly doesn't say anything to show it. Then again, Caesar  _ would  _ be the one to let him steep in his own inner turmoil rather than address it, so maybe Arcade isn't as surprised as he pretends to be.

"I'm assuming he's still a bit roughed up? I sincerely doubt you already have him on his feet..." Caesar prompts him to continue, and from the corner of his eye he can see the older man watching him, brows furrowed slightly in expectation. 

"Of course he's still  _ 'roughed up'. _ People don't recover from being trampled overnight," Arcade sighs, letting his own frustrations seep into his tone. Honestly, what did Caesar  _ expect  _ him to say? "I'm a doctor, not a miracle worker." He drawls, finally turning his head to shoot a look over at him. 

To his credit, Caesar doesn't have a strong reaction to that, merely raising his eyebrows at Arcade as if he'd said something  _ particularly  _ interesting.

"Well,  _ someone  _ seems grumpy today," He hums, lifting his mug of tea to his lips. "The hell has  _ you  _ all pissed off? It's hardly been two weeks, don't tell me you already miss me  _ that  _ much..." He smirks in amusement from behind the lip of his cup, eyes flickering down to survey Arcade's fingers twitching around the mug in his hands. Arcade pauses briefly, and then taps his fingernail against the ceramic to try and ward off the sharp irritation that flares in his chest, upon hearing that amused tone. The last thing he needs right now is Caesar acting  _ smug. _

"No, I don't  _ miss  _ you." He responds with a sneer of distaste, sounding disgusted at even the  _ thought  _ of such a thing. Of course he doesn't miss him-- and Caesar knows that fact well enough, based on the dry little chuckle he lets out afterwards, no doubt genuinely amused by Arcade’s reaction. "What are you,  _ five?” _ He scoffs at the older man, rolling his eyes when the tyrant actually has the gall to  _ snort  _ at him, for it. 

Maybe Arcade should feel lucky to get away with back-talk like this, but in all honesty, he's beginning to prefer Vulpes' quiet, intense stare to Caesar's obnoxious hedging. At least  _ Vulpes  _ takes him  _ seriously  _ when he's upset-- which, actually, that's not something he ever expected to say about  _ Vulpes Inculta,  _ of all people. Honestly, the fact he’s even  _ able _ to give the man any credit is a shock in and of itself, although that thought reminds him of the reason Caesar is here, to begin with. 

"You aren't here to talk about me." He says quietly, watching the way Caesar’s eyes slowly slide off towards the window, afterwards. His look of amusement turns to contemplation as he does, and his smirk slowly morphs into that of a real smile, just barely upturning the corners of his lips. 

"I suppose you're right about that," He hums, still smiling softly. It's clear he is in a good mood, today. "But, it  _ is  _ nice to see you again, Arcade; touchy as you are..." He jokes, and the pure, sheer  _ teasing  _ in his tone is enough to grate Arcade's nerves. He clenches his jaw again, pressing his lips into a thin line as he turns his gaze away. 

“What a compliment.” Arcade drawls, flat and sarcastic. It's the only thing he can think to say that wouldn't be outright  _ snapping  _ at the other man, because as tempting as that thought is, he doesn't want to give Caesar the satisfaction of getting under his skin-- he knows that's at least half the reason the other man enjoys his company so much, after all-- he  _ loves _ getting to him.

Though, despite knowing all that, he's… he's at least  _ aware  _ that the other man isn't actually  _ mocking  _ him this time around-- or, at least, he isn't  _ trying  _ to. Really, Arcade knows he probably shouldn't be so irritated right now, but god, he can't  _ help  _ it. He's felt so much more...  _ off,  _ these last few days. It's been hard to not take things personally; he’s had a lot to think about. 

Caesar takes a long drink from his mug of tea while Arcade falls quiet, seeming entirely unperturbed by the venom in his voice a few moments ago. The older man clears his throat after he's finished, breaking the brief silence between them again. "Do you think I could see him, now?" He asks, raising an eyebrow over at Arcade. Very briefly, he struggles to hold back another scoff upon hearing the older man's tone, clear that he's only  _ playing  _ cordial with the question. Regardless, he decides to entertain the other man-- it's not like there's much else to be done, after all.

"I wouldn't recommend it. I gave him a dose of Med-x before you decided to stop by for this little surprise visit. He's probably sleeping right now." He hums in answer, glancing towards the window again. "But, knowing you, you're not going to listen to me anyways, so why bother?" He sighs after, speaking flippantly as he leans his chin into the palm of his hand, looking, and feeling entirely disinterested. Caesar lets out a dry little chuckle then, and he smiles softly at Arcade, once more. 

"Oh, don't be like that-- I've listened to you plenty of times." The older man huffs out, lips upturned in an amused expression. Arcade continues looking out the window despite the other man's words, seeking out the skyline over the various buildings that make up New Vegas. His eyes flicker over the clouds distractedly, but it lasts only a moment before he glances back to the tyrant across from him out of the corner of his eyes. He's taking another sip of his tea when Arcade does, eyes closed, and features softened in a way that makes him look so utterly, terribly  _ human.  _

It occurs to him, then. The abrupt realization that, to anyone on the outside looking in, the image of them both talking like this could almost seem domestic,  _ pleasant _ , even. Arcade can readily imagine someone mistaking Caesar for a well-meaning paternal figure, from a passing glance into the room, and Arcade would be the spitting image of the hard-working young man he'd decided to share a nice afternoon chat with, like an image right out of one of those pre-war magazines. Even just the thought of that makes him jolt to sit up, nearly dropping his own mug of tea from the shock to his system. Caesar seems just as startled by his sudden jolt, because he leans forward in an instant, reaching out to steady Arcade with a firm hand on his shoulder.

"Woah there," He says, looking to Arcade's face with clear concern-- or was that confusion? Arcade can't actually tell, because he immediately looks away the minute he registers it. "The hell just happened? You're whiter than a sheet," Caesar comments, only letting go of Arcade when the other man is steady, again. "Does my Doctor need a doctor, too?" He asks lightly, huffing a quiet, uncertain breath of laughter as he tries to lighten the mood. Although, the genuine concern hidden in his tone is enough to make Arcade feel ill.

"Nuh-- No, I'm- Im fine, sorry," he breathes out, words coming out stilted, and forced as Caesar reaches out, gingerly taking his full mug of tea from his hands, and setting it down on the coffee table before Arcade can get a chance to drop it. The liquid inside is already cold and bitter, if the soggy tea bag still soaking within is anything to go by. The gesture seems like a thoughtless one on the older man’s part, but it still makes his chest tighten just that little bit more. Experiencing kindness--  _ genuine  _ kindness-- from Caesar has always been a painful experience, for so,  _ so  _ many reasons.

"You sure? You look ready to drop…” The older man continues, and the trace of lightness in his expression all but evaporates to make way for uncertainty, his eyes flickering over Arcade in clear concern. “Maybe I should call one of the doctors from the clinic on up? Come here, let me feel your forehead,” He says, pushing himself forward a bit in his seat as if to reach for him. Arcade bolts up out of his spot in an instant, immediately stepping out of reach from the other man’s outstretched hand. Caesar’s expression goes from concerned, to bewildered then, and Arcade quickly averts his gaze as he takes yet another step backwards.

“No, no, it’s-- I’m fine. I think I just… got a bit light headed, is all,” He lies, voice coming out breathless as his eyes flicker over the far wall, seeking out the chips in the paint as he tries to calm himself. “I’ve just had trouble sleeping, is all-- y-you know, new environments, and all that.” He stammers, letting his lips turn up in a nervous little smile as he finally looks back to the tyrant in front of him. Caesar settles his hand back into his lap slowly, never taking his gaze away from Arcade’s face. 

“...Is that so,” He hums then, eyebrows furrowed in clear disbelief as he looks the other man up and down. Arcade struggles to keep still under that weighted gaze, though, thankfully, whatever Caesar is thinking right now, he seems to decide that it’s not worth the trouble, and he lets out a quiet sigh as he looks to the coffee table instead, eyeing Arcade’s forgotten mug of tea. “Right. Well then, if it’s not an issue…” He trails off, lifting his own mug before finishing the last of his tea, and setting the empty cup back onto the table.

“Yes?” Arcade says, voice coming out weak as he slowly begins to calm himself, again. He just wants to  _ move on  _ and  _ away  _ from the moment, before Caesar can change his mind, and decide to look at him a little closer, scrutinize him a little more-- He doesn’t think he can take it, right now. He would lament that thought further, but Caesar is already speaking again. 

“I won’t  _ try _ to disturb him if he’s resting, but I would still like to see him,” The older man sighs softly, pushing himself to stand after a brief moment. It’s about Vulpes again--  _ thank god  _ it’s about Vulpes, again.

“Right-- Right, right. Sure thing,” He immediately breathes out, honestly too relieved by the change of topic to even consider refusing. Not that it would matter much if he did, anyways-- Caesar had clearly made up his mind on the matter.

And so, Arcade leads him the short distance to the other man’s room, biting his lip as he reaches out, and gently turns the knob before letting the door creak open. He shifts out of the way in the next moment, watching Caesar step inside before Arcade opts to keep his spot against the door frame. He watches the older man’s back as he heads closer, laying eyes on Vulpes for the first time since when they’d brought him into the clinic, those few weeks ago. 

True to Arcade’s word, he’s fast asleep, head tilted against the pillow with his hands folded over his stomach. He looks so peaceful it’s almost unnatural; the same level of unnerving stillness that a corpse might have, and yet Arcade can see his chest rising and falling with slow, even breaths, all the same.

"You really knocked him out, didn't you?" Caesar murmurs under his breath, sounding distracted as he looks over Vulpes’ sleeping figure.

“He needs the rest.” Arcade quietly responds, swallowing hard as he watches the older man move to his side. 

It's...  _ eerie,  _ seeing the two of them together like this. Vulpes, all laid up in bed fast asleep, and Caesar standing over him, watching him closely, even now. The image of it feels much bigger than just the still, peaceful moment between them. Arcade watches, not even realizing his breath has caught in his chest when Caesar lifts his hand, before gently setting his palm across Vulpes’ forehead in a gentle touch.   
  


Even now, Caesar still has expectations for him to meet. Even  _ now, _ injured beyond function, there is still weight on his shoulders. To recover, to bounce back-- to return to being  _ ‘useful’  _ for his Lord…

Arcade despises the both of them, and yet he can’t help but feel a strange pang in his chest at the thought; at the  _ sight. _ He has to wonder, what must it be like to spend your entire life convinced that you have to be useful, to stay alive? His chest pangs again, and he swallows hard, watching Caesar’s half-lidded eyes take him in. Once again, he resembles a parent-- worriedly watching over their sick child as his fingers pet over Vulpes’ short-shaved hair. Arcade has to remind himself that it’s a parody. It’s a cruel look into a different world, and a different time. 

Quietly, he turns away from the sight.


	6. Mirror on the Horizon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: the roman god Apollo is known to be the god of many things, such as medicine, life, music, poetry... so on and so forth. He's also commonly depicted with fair skin, and radiant blond hair...
> 
> Im thinking about going back through and re-editing all the chapters up until now, just to polish them a bit more… maybe change some details, who knows! As always, feel free to leave a comment if you like the chapter, either way!!

It's the day after Caesar’s visit when Arcade finds himself sitting at the edge of his mattress, still in his night clothes and feeling worse for wear. 

Sleep has been frustrating to come by all night long, and he’s already given up trying to force himself into it. Eventually opting to just sit up, and zone out staring at the far wall of his room in lieu of trying to be productive-- not all nights are winners, and Arcade doesn’t expect to just magically feel better any time soon-- certainly not in time to catch a decent amount of rest, anyways. 

He’s aware that he could just lay down and close his eyes. Aware that even _that_ would still be better than nothing... 

Yet, he doesn't. 

He doesn’t lay down. He doesn’t even make an _attempt._ The thought of even _trying_ brings him discomfort, and though he would like to blame that fact on the man sleeping only a room away, Arcade knows Vulpes is no danger to him. The injured man’s presence is no excuse.

Rather, all throughout his life he’s struggled with such a thing-- and when he’d first become Caesar’s slave he’d barely been able to sleep at _all,_ so this is hardly a new occurrence for him. For weeks at a time he’d run on one or two fitful hours of sleep, maybe three or four if he was exhausted enough to do so. He can remember going _months_ without being able to read for more than ten minutes before his vision would blur-- can remember falling into uneasy sleep at tables, in chairs, and at one point at Caesar’s _feet_ , on one occasion where he’d been forced to kneel before the tyrant during a _particularly_ bad week. 

_This_ feeling somewhat resembles those earlier memories, though Arcade has gotten much better at falling asleep throughout the year he’s been in captivity. It used to be that he’d sit up all through the night, back when he was still kept in Caesar’s tent. He’d spent hours watching the warlord in the remote darkness as he slept on, unbothered and unaware of Arcade’s eyes on him. He remembers the stiff, uncomfortable silence, and the stifling chill of unease without a thing to do about it, just waiting for movement, for daylight, for _something. Anything._

Arcade had contemplated his situation for hours at a time on those nights. He would think about his life up to that point, the people he met along the way, the choices he’d made… He would wonder about whether or not he deserved everything that’s happened to him, and, sometimes, he would think about the Courier. 

Apparently, he _still_ sits up to contemplate some of those things. Even now. 

Arcade thought he was, at least on a base level, a _good_ person. He used to think that he always had the best intentions, that he’d always strived to do the things that would really matter in life. He’d spent his entire upbringing and _after_ running from his family's past of eugenics and violent mistakes, and dedicated it to helping others instead. Studying and training to become a doctor, working with the Followers, researching and trying to develop new types of medicines and treatments… He’d done it then because it was what he believed in-- _still_ believes in, he furiously tells himself-- But even now, there is that lingering thought, that bitter question that festers in the back of his mind on nights like this. 

_Was it enough?_ Says that little whisper, prickling at the base of his skull like an unreachable itch. _Was it enough to make up for everything else?_  
  
He rubs his hands over his face the next moment, feeling ill as he tries to will the question away. Eventually, he _has_ to ask himself what difference it will make, torturing himself over the what-ifs. What good is it to always be tormenting himself, like this? What reason is there to prolong sleepless nights and sit up, feverishly questioning his _own_ place on the scale when there is already a much, much _larger_ evil surrounding him? At what point does it stop being speculation, and become self-fulfilling prophecy when he asks himself that same question over and over again, begging for an answer he can’t even give to _himself?_ Of course it wasn’t enough-- it was _never_ enough. 

_  
_ _But what would have been?_   
  


The only thing that had saved him from a brutal, bloody demise by his own hands that first night was the thought that his death would be meaningless. Not out of some selfish desire for it to _mean_ anything, but out of the thought that it would force _someone else_ into his same position. Either they would find another method besides _him_ to cure Caesar’s illness-- be it another doctor, another _innocent person_ \-- or Caesar would die. As rapturous, and hopeful as that thought is in Arcade’s mind, there had been one other detail that came with the tyrant’s death. 

The fact that their _Legatus_ would become the Legion’s new leader, should it happen.

The Legate was a man still steeped in mystery for Arcade, even today. Yet, he’d known _enough_ at the time to understand just how bad that possibility would be. He’s only ever heard of the Legate in whispers, in stories muffled by the smoke of campfires, and the privacy night time brings. He remembers Siri’s voice had wobbled, the occasion he’d dared to ask-- as if even speaking of him might summon his spirit. There had been no use for imagination to assume the Legate was terrifying-- as much speculation as Caesar, or even _Vulpes_ had was unnecessary. Lanius needed no help to become his own legend-- there were enough horrific truths to his name that there was hardly anything left to come up with. 

No, as bitter of a pill as it had been to swallow, Arcade knew. Even as horrible as Caesar is-- even as ruthless, and arrogant, and _selfish_ as he is-- Lanius would have been so, _so_ much worse. 

It had been a deeply depressing thought, but it was also a _sobering_ one. From that first moment, that first realization of _‘But it could get so much worse,’_ Arcade had made his decision. His _‘sacrifice’--_ Though he’s loath to call it that.

 _That_ had been the reason he’d stayed alive that first night, and the nights that followed. He’d ensured Caesar’s survival, and had taken care of him in the aftermath of his surgery until he’d recovered. And, in doing so, he prevented the Mojave from dealing with an _even more_ bloodthirsty alternative, if only temporarily.

But. He isn’t _thankful_ for that fact, either. Not in the slightest. He doesn’t feel like a hero, or a martyr-- he doesn’t even feel like he did the _right thing--_ Knowing that he’d made the best choice he could doesn’t make it easier. It doesn’t even _begin_ to cover the sickness he feels at the thought; the hate and anger and deep, _deep_ regret that continues to eat away at him day in and day out. _Sure,_ Caesar may not be as bad as Lanius _comparatively,_ but Caesar _created_ people like Lanius-- _still_ creates them, actually. He’s cultivated an entire community _revolved_ _around_ creating them. Bloodthirsty, feral _animals_ among men, masquerading as _purer_ beings-- above human nature, and devoted to their own kind of _virtue._ It’s ridiculous, ‘purity’ as a concept is one of the most pointless things Arcade has ever _heard of._

Purity’s varied definition has been something sought after by too many warlords and dictators to be a coincidence. Arcade is not ignorant to the Enclave’s base ideals. The goals to ‘purge the world of imperfection’ and ‘promote peace’, as if _peace_ is really the goal. The Enclave didn’t want peace-- neither does the Legion. The thought is actually _laughable._ All they _really_ want is an excuse to ruin the people that defy them. All they want is _power._ Caesar’s definition is the same exact poison, just in a different bottle. 

_What a load of Brahmin shit._  
  
He bends forward at the edge of the mattress, sinking his fingers into his hair as he tries to wind himself down from that. There’s anger simmering in his chest, making his throat burn from the heat before he forces himself to breathe in, and then out. It’s a short, sharp movement, and he tightens his hands in his hair, pulling at it. 

Arcade had made a promise to himself that first night, sitting in the darkness of Caesar’s tent as the sleeping lions surrounded him. An ill-begot promise to some, but he mouths along to the words of it to try and comfort himself, even now. _If I cannot change fate, then fate cannot change me._

Needlessly poetic, and tragic all at once, isn’t it. He knows better to think he hasn’t been changed. He _has--_ probably for the worse-- but if nothing else, at least he can still _recognize_ himself. That’s probably a lot more than the vast majority in his same position could say. 

He knows better than to think he’s the same as he always was, yet still believes in that promise. Still intends to hold it to himself. If he cannot choose his own ending-- if he cannot choose the fate of the Mojave, and the fate of those that deserved better-- then at the very least, he won’t allow himself to fall from his roots. One of the only things that can’t be taken from him is who he is, and what he _believes_ in, and that thought has kept him alive for far longer than any bold-faced hope of salvation would have been able to. 

He'd prevented the worst alternative in saving Caesar, but only in terms of body count. He can't say he _saved_ anyone with his actions-- not when the Legion is still under the steady hand of it’s master-- But, if nothing else, he'd prevented _Lanius_ from coming to power. 

_But._ That voice in the back of his mind halts him. _What does the difference matter?_

He lets out a quiet breath, but the question is warranted. What difference _does_ it make? One’s violence is only physical, but the Legion under Caesar is a _disease_ that seeps into peoples minds, raises them into monsters with no autonomy. For as long as Caesar is alive to ensure it, it is an endless cycle of life and death united by an ideal that _isn’t achievable._ Peace does not await them, if and when they conquer everyone to be conquered-- and when they find themselves sitting on their empire with no one left to fight, they will turn on themselves and fall apart. It is a tale told time and time again, and yet it’s impossible to imagine the destruction they will leave in their wake once it finally happens. 

So, Arcade has to ask himself: Would it _really_ be worse under Lanius, if there was the potential it would all crumpled underneath his rule before it had the chance to grow further? Would that possibility be worth the risk of giving a man like him that kind of power? 

He sucks in a deep breath, sharply running his fingers through his hair, and down the back of his neck until he can grip at the collar around his throat. He suppresses the urge to clench his teeth together at the sudden wave of anger that rekindles itself in his chest, feeling it burning brighter than it had before. 

It doesn’t actually _matter_ what choice he made in the end, does it? It doesn’t matter, because either way the Legion would have continued on for _long enough._

Long enough to cause damage. Long enough to leave an impact; it doesn’t _matter_ what choice there might have been. It doesn’t matter what option he decided to pick-- There’s blood on his hands no matter which decision he’d made. The only difference is now he isn’t sure _how much_ . Is there a list that exists somewhere out there? A tally of all the names, all the _people_ that he’s inadvertently killed? His hands flex around the collar tight against his throat, feeling stifled as he struggles to breathe.  
  
 _Was it enough?_ He reels back from his spiraling thoughts before they can continue, and his hands loosen around the collar at that same question. Just as soon as that mounting anger had risen, it deflates again, leaving him all too aware that he’s still staring off into the vacant space of the guest room, mulling over things he can’t control-- as if _that_ will fix anything.

One of his hands falls back down to his lap, the other gently beginning to trace the front of the leather around his throat in absentminded circles. His lips part, and his eyes water as he tries to count the hours he’s spent sitting like this. _Is it enough?_

 _No,_ He quietly muses. _It’s not._

\---  
  
It’s Daisy’s voice that finds him first, like a light in the darkness. 

_‘Sometimes, life will get you down at the worst of times,_ _Arcade.’_ She would tell him, one arm looped around his shoulders as they trekked along the road, following after the hot sun. _‘It doesn’t play fair-- it cheats, it plays dirty, and it’ll nick you at some point, just like it does with everyone, eventually. Don't let those moments break you. Learn from them.’_

It was sound advice, if a little vague. Arcade would love to listen to her now, just as he had then, but what is there for him to _learn_ from this outcome? He’s _not_ broken-- not by a long shot-- but he wishes he could ask her. Wishes he could sit down and plead for an answer, ask her ‘What is there to learn from _this?’_

Had she been sitting beside him, he thinks he could picture her hands folded in her lap, a grim expression on her face. The _real_ Daisy might have known what to say to that, with all her years and wisdom over Arcade-- but he’s not like her. He doesn’t have her age, or her experience; he doesn’t know the answer.  
 _  
_He closes his eyes at the thought, trying to take himself somewhere far away from here-- away from Vegas, and the Legion, and anyone who might find him like this. He takes himself all the way back to when he was a young teen, towing along hip-to-hip with Daisy. Both of them holed up in some seedy little motel for the night to avoid the NCR patrols along the highway. He’d sat on his knees in the stiff little armchair by the wall, leaning over the armrest to look out of the dirty second-floor window. He remembers watching the sky as it darkened to a calm blue, and after a while Daisy had joined him there, the two of them taking turns picking out the stars as they slowly started to appear across the skyline.

She’d rubbed his back in slow, soothing circles by the time it was pitch black. Whispered that it was time for bed against his temple, and hugged him tight. 

_‘Can we do this again, tomorrow?’_ He’d asked once he’d turned to face her, still so utterly naive of the world that was trying to hurt him. Daisy had looked at him then, and he’d been too young to understand why she’d looked so sad, even despite her smile. 

_‘We can do this any night you want to, sweetheart.’_ She’d promised him, and the next night they did, and again the night after that.  
  
 _Daisy… are you even out there?_ He quietly wonders, staring down at his hands as he lets them fall to his lap again. _Are you somewhere safe? Are you happy?_ He can’t help it as he feels his heart ache, and his eyes burn with the threat of tearing up. 

_Do you wonder where I am?_

\---  
  
Arcade doesn’t realize how much time has passed until he hears a mattress creaking from the other room, and finds it’s already light outside when he dares to check. How long has he spent just staring off into space like this? 

He shakes his head to try and clear it, wiping at his eyes before pushing himself up to stand. He moves to start tugging off his sleep clothes, figuring there’s no reason for him to sit around anymore-- he’s spent long enough wallowing. Staying here in Vulpes’ suite isn’t like the stifled air of Caesar’s tent, or the Lucky 38, anyhow. Arcade doesn’t have to be fearful of making noise too early, and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t thankful for _that_ much. 

_Come on, get it together._ He tells himself once he’s finished dressing, heading out of his room to make the short trek to the kitchen. He stops to splash his face with cold water in the sink, putting on a pot of water to boil thereafter.  
  
It’s not long after that he finds himself with a mug of coffee in hand, finally having worked up the willpower to make his way to Vulpes’ room after a few fortifying sips. He’s hoping to check in on the other man and, if Arcade’s lucky, he might still be asleep. 

But, luck obviously hasn’t been on his side in a long time, because the moment Arcade gently pushes the door open, he finds Vulpes is already beginning to stir. 

_Figures_.

Blearily, Vulpes shifts underneath the covers, freeing one of his hands from beneath the fabric to reach up, and rub his eye-- the unbruised one, in particular. 

Though, his black eye _has_ healed a lot more than some of his other injuries. It’s already nearly gone along with most of the other minor bruising he’d had before. It probably wouldn’t hurt to touch the area by now, but Vulpes seems to subconsciously avoid it. 

Arcade shifts, glancing away as he takes another sip from his mug. It’s odd to watch the other man wake so… _slowly,_ as well. He doesn’t really resemble the dangerous menace Arcade knows him to be-- he hasn’t for a _while,_ and the longer that continues, the more concerning it becomes. 

It’s concerning because right now, Arcade doesn’t _feel_ intimidated. He doesn’t feel _disgusted--_ At least, not as vividly as he’s used to-- If anything, Vulpes looks like a regular man right now, softened with sleep and comfort in a way that feels _entirely_ inappropriate for Arcade to be privy to. But, that in itself is different, isn't it? He can recall maybe only a week before today when Vulpes would wake up silently, alert in an instant without Arcade so much as _noticing._ He can vividly remember that first time he’d been checking over the other man's injuries, only to look up and come face to face with the full brunt of that frigid stare. 

Perhaps Vulpes is just used to waking up in his suite by now, or perhaps it’s the Med-x still in his system that makes him less alert at all times-- maybe it’s even the warmth of the room, and the soft pillow under his head that’s leaving him so relaxed-- _Any_ of those possibilities could explain the casualness in the way he runs his hand over his short hair, and stretches with a soft, contented groan before he even opens his eyes. Yet, the moment he does his pale gaze locks onto Arcade in an instant, though, it’s half-lidded, and calm. Somehow, he already knew Arcade was there. 

Arcade’s lips part, but it takes him a moment to find his voice. "Good morning," he eventually settles on, sounding tired even to his own ears.

Vulpes’ doesn’t respond, and his pale eyes linger over him for a moment after he speaks, flickering down the line of his body for what was likely only a second, but feels like _much_ longer. Arcade swallows hard at the sight, immediately brought back to the reality of _who_ he’s talking to with that observing look. Though he finds Vulpes’ gaze surprisingly-- or perhaps _deceptively--_ soft in comparison to the intensity he’s used to. Though, he supposes sleep could easily be to blame for _that,_ as well. 

Regardless of the cause, it’s concerning, and it’s _uncomfortable._ Arcade doesn’t like being on the receiving end of that quiet stare. He’s not sure what it actually _means--_ or if it means anything at all. 

“Doctor...” Vulpes speaks up, voice coming out low, and _deliciously_ rugged with sleep. The sound of it draws Arcade out of his thoughts, yet he quickly glances away, feeling his face beginning to heat up. He doesn’t even notice Vulpes falling quiet again for his own borderline _Pavlovian_ response to the sound of his voice, just now. Shit, what the hell was _that_ about? 

Against his will, he recalls the sound of the early morning-after memories from years past; the birds chirping outside the window, the sheets rustling and shifting, a body pressing against his under the covers and a warm, rumbling voice murmuring in his ear…

Okay. Perhaps he _does_ know what it’s about, actually. Arcade will, begrudgingly, admit that Vulpes _does_ have a nice voice, but that’s no excuse to melt into a puddle just because he happens to sound a little _rougher_ right now-- It’s not even something he _intentionally_ noticed, either! It was just… _automatic._

 _Good god,_ He reels himself back in an instant, shaking himself out of his thoughts. _What the hell is wrong with me?_

“Er… Yes, Vulpes?” He answers the other man, clearing his throat as he adjusts his glasses, trying to retain some sense of normalcy as he finally lets his gaze move back to him. He’s still watching Arcade with that softened, impassive stare, but it’s impossible to say what he might be thinking about. 

No... he knows it’s not a figment of his imagination. There’s something _different_ about the way Vulpes is looking at him, right now-- or perhaps it’s something different about the way he looks in general? It’s not quite the same as looking tired, but it’s more… it’s more _relaxed,_ almost. He looks comfortable, calm in a different way than Arcade has ever seen him before. It makes it feel strange, too intimate to be meeting his eyes now, even despite the distance between them. 

_And this is why we need sleep._ He snidely reminds himself. _You watch one man wake up and suddenly every difference is an intimate one. Christ, get it together, Gannon._

Vulpes watches him, seeming to-- at least _somewhat--_ pick up on Arcade’s internal struggle as he hesitates to answer. His lips part slightly, brow furrowed in what _looks_ like contemplation, but it’s hard to tell. It’s _always_ hard to tell, with Vulpes. 

_Shit._ Arcade quietly thinks. _It was probably written all over my face..._

He raises his mug to his lips again, hiding his mouth as his gaze darts to the side subconsciously. Vulpes was probably analyzing his every move right now-- or, at least, he probably _could_ if he wanted to. He’s not sure what use that kind of information would have, but is he really sure about _anything_ Vulpes does? His eyes raise back up to look at him again, trying to hold off the urge to fidget.

Vulpes is looking right back at him. “...You look ill.” He finally speaks up, voice just barely under his breath. Arcade’s eyebrows shoot up into his hairline, and once again, Vulpes manages to come completely out of left-field with his comment.

“Oh. _Oh?”_ He says in response, quickly reaching up to touch his cheek, attempting to check his own temperature. His face _does_ feel a bit warmer than it probably should, and distractedly, he wonders whether or not he looks too pale, or too flushed; There’s no mirror in here for him to check. 

"Yes.” Vulpes affirms, “Come here." His hand raises, beckoning him over. Arcade pauses at that, blinking in surprise at the sound of what is certainly a _command_ on Vulpes’ lips. It’s not a sharp one-- if anything it comes out soft in the other man’s sleep-laden voice-- Yet it makes him wonder; could he refuse? What would the other man do, if he did? Would he find a way to force Arcade into obeying? Would he even care? Arcade isn’t sure, and a realization sharply hits him at that thought. 

Vulpes has never given him an order, before now.  
  


Maybe that realization is to blame for why he hesitates. Arcade would certainly like to _think_ that’s the reason, frozen in place as Vulpes watches him, eyes half-lidded for the few seconds his reluctance lasts. But, finally Arcade remembers himself, swallowing nervously before pushing forward, farther into the room. He sets his warm mug of coffee on the bedside table before lowering himself to the edge of the mattress, feeling it dip beneath his weight as he sits by the other man’s hip. 

How had Arcade not seen it until now? He was so used to being ordered around by Caesar that it was something he hardly even _noticed_ , anymore. Always mindless little tasks, whether it was fetching something for him, or telling other people what to do in his absence-- always small things that Arcade would do without a second thought, most of the time. Yet, the more he tries to recall these last couple of weeks, the more he realizes that Vulpes really hasn’t ordered him to do _anything,_ before _._

He’s asked for things, of course he has-- but he’s never _demanded_ them. Now that Arcade thinks about it, him even _asking_ for things is a rare occurrence. Has he truly become so desensitized to it that he doesn’t even notice when he’s _not_ being ordered around, anymore? His heart thuds at the thought, feeling a heavy dislike in his stomach.  
  


Vulpes’ eyes never leave him as he settles beside his hip. It could be his nerves, or the lack of sleep working against him, but Arcade swears that stare is more intense, now. Perhaps he’s just feeling jumpy, but he can’t help the way his heart beats in his throat, just thinking about the fact that Vulpes’ first ever demand of him was to _come closer,_ of all things--

Something about that thought just sits heavy in his chest, and he _wants_ to ask what Vulpes is planning-- wants to ask what he’s going to do, but his mouth might as well be glued shut by the time the other man shifts. Arcade’s eyes flicker down as he sees one hand lift, mind rapidly thinking about all the damage Vulpes’ hands alone have caused. How many people have died and suffered because of _those hands,_ specifically? Is there a body count for each one? 

Vulpes’ fingers brush across his jaw in the midst of his thoughts, and the gentle touch nearly short-circuits his brain. Arcade _feels_ the moment his breath catches in his lungs, flinching away. His eyes are wide when he looks at Vulpes again, and it’s obvious he’d been expecting some kind of _pain_ as opposed to the gentle touch he’d been given. Vulpes stares right back at him, eyebrows furrowed as his hand hesitates mid-air. 

There’s a moment of tense silence between the both of them, and though it likely only lasts a second, it feels like _eons_ before Vulpes reaches for him again. He wishes he could break the silence, wishes he could rid himself of this heavy tension, but it feels as though he’s rooted in place as the other man’s fingers brush against him, again. Vulpes moves slower now, touching him as if Arcade were a frightened animal. He manages to hold off from flinching again just barely, though his heart flip flops in his chest as the other man cups his cheek. 

His hand feels cool against Arcade’s skin, and he can’t tell if it’s because _he’s_ too warm, or if Vulpes is just like that on his own. 

_What is he doing?_

Arcade swallows hard, trying to relax his rigid posture as his body slowly catches up to the fact Vulpes isn’t hurting him. He looks away from the other man’s intense expression, lips parting slightly when he feels his thumb brush over his cheekbone in a soft, caressing touch. What is he _doing?_ This can’t be as simple as Vulpes just trying to check his _temperature._ This feels too intimate, too gentle-- too _slow._ It should be as easy as feeling his forehead, and calling it a day-- Or is he _trying_ to make him uncomfortable? Arcade would _love_ to say it’s working, if that’s the case, but the emotion he’s feeling right now is… actually somewhat different. A mix of confusion and uncertainty that makes his heart beat too loud, too _fast_ as his pulse climbs higher, threatening to lodge into his throat. 

"Vulpes." He finally, _finally_ finds his voice, hearing it waver. "I… I should _really_ check your injuries…" He trails off, sounding meek even to himself. Arcade _would_ continue, would probably trail off into nervous babbling like he usually does, but Vulpes tilts his head just slightly to the side then, and it cuts off anything else he might have thought to say. Just the look on his face would stop him in his tracks, if he didn’t feel utterly frozen to start with. It’s not that he looks agitated, or angry, or even _irritated_ with him-- not in the slightest. It’s that his expression is overwhelmingly _present._ It’s a look that screams _‘I’m listening!’_ to an intimidating extent, and though it’s a bit ironic, it’s _also_ what makes Arcade the most keen to fall silent, again.

Not unlike stage fright, having the full brunt of that expectant stare, just _waiting_ for him to continue, is what makes him waver. 

Briefly, he considers just what he might say to him in the first place. Would he just continue to insist he start checking his injuries? Would he insist that he’s fine, even knowing Vulpes can see right through him? Perhaps he might even just be honest, and tell him that he’s not sure _what_ is going on right now, and that he wants it to stop? It’s not even that Vulpes’ touch is particularly unbearable, either, but the uncertainty of _why he’s doing this_ is too strong to ignore. Arcade seldom feels so uncertain, but these last couple of weeks have all but uprooted him from the steady ground he’s used to. 

He blinks at Vulpes, lips parting just slightly with the _want_ to say something, before closing his mouth, and deciding against it, again. It’s a very rare occurrence for Arcade to have nothing to say, and even now, there are a million thoughts racing through his head. But. He just can’t bring himself to _speak._

Vulpes is still cupping his face in the midst of his struggle, gently stroking his cheekbone with his thumb as if it were the most natural thing in the world. 

_I should pull away._ Arcade thinks, very quietly realizing that he probably _could_ if he wanted to _._ Vulpes isn’t holding him there, he’s not _forcing_ Arcade to sit still. He could just move away, lean out of his grip-- hell, he could pull his hand away, if he really wanted to-- and yet he’s still just sitting here, letting Vulpes touch him.

_Why am I not pulling away?_

He avidly tries to swallow the lump in his throat as Vulpes’ touch shifts. His hand pulls back before his knuckles gently brush up the side of Arcade’s face, moving further up. Vulpes grazes over his temple before gently brushing his hair out of the way, and then the back of his hand presses against his forehead.

“You’re warm.” Vulpes murmurs, eyes narrowing in quiet observation. The look in those eyes is captivating, ice-blue against pink and white, and yet Arcade can see the strange warmth to them. The burst blood vessels in his eyes seem almost healed up by now, only a faint bit of red peeking through the pink and white spots along his sclera. It still makes an intimidating picture, seeing the other man continue to just… _watch_ him, like this. 

The expression on Vulpes’ face makes it seem as though he’s studying him, _marveling_ at him, and Arcade struggles to control the sliver of panic he feels at the thought. 

He doesn’t even realize he’s holding his breath until Vulpes’ hand moves again. Arcade’s eyes snap shut in an instant when he feels the other man’s fingers begin to slip through his hair, brows furrowing in a wince. He braces himself for pain, yet Vulpes goes still again. There’s a beat of silence, of hesitation, and then the other man continues. His fingers bury into thick blond locks even despite Arcade’s rigidness at the feeling, and he can’t help the wavered sound of distress that falls from his lips, before the pads of Vulpes fingers trace against his scalp. It takes him several moments until he slowly begins to realize that grip isn’t tightening like he expected it to. Vulpes’ fingers don't tangle, or tug. Instead, they gently rake through his hair, musing it further as he brushes it out of his face.

Arcade’s teeth find his lower lip as he slowly gets the courage to open his eyes again, heart skipping erratically in his chest. He’s still bracing for pain until he sees the expression on Vulpes’ face. His pale eyes half-lidded, watching Arcade through dark eyelashes as his lips part just the smallest amount. He looks enraptured, and in the next moment his hand moves back to run through his hair again. Slowly-- as if trying to calm him. 

Cool fingers tenderly brush the nape of his neck, making his hair stand on end as he tenses up. Though, he’s not sure it’s _pain_ he’s bracing for, anymore. 

Why is he doing this?

Arcade’s mind flickers back to the other day, to the memory of Caesar standing over him, carding his worn fingers across Vulpes scalp in petting touch as he slept on. Soft, adoring, _terrifying._

_Why is he doing this?_

Vulpes continues to watch him with that critical gaze, and Arcade desperately wishes he could know just what the other man must be thinking right now. What must be running through his head, to make him act like _this?_

More importantly, why is Arcade _letting him?_

“You are so... _morbidly_ _fascinating,”_ Vulpes finally speaks again, voice coming out quiet, nearly a whisper. “ _Conflictu tua est obvious, Medicus..._ ” He says under his breath, eyes slowly flickering along the curve of Arcade’s jaw like a flame. 

_Your conflict is obvious, Doctor._

Shivers tear down Arcade’s spine at that little murmur, finding a cold sweat breaking out on his brow. 

_‘Your conflict is obvious.’_ What the fuck does that _mean?_ Which conflict is he talking about? Because Arcade sure as hell has _more than one_ right about now, and he has half a mind to tell the other man. 

“And I’ve never seen such fine, golden hair…” Vulpes continues, interrupting Arcade’s train of thought. He blinks at that, uncertain as to what he’s supposed to make of that soft tone as he swallows hard, feeling his collar too tightly around his throat. 

“You… You’ve surely seen other blonds, before…” He points out, sounding far too breathless under the other man’s scrutiny. It feels as though Vulpes may as well see right into him-- pinning him with a stare as Arcade struggles to keep from fidgeting. Why is he _doing_ this? Why is he saying these things, looking at him this way-- is this all just some sort of power-play for him? Is it some sort of dance they’re doing, and Arcade is the only one out of the loop?

It’s a brief moment before Vulpes’ eyes flicker further up once more, gently raking his fingers through Arcade’s hair again, almost in afterthought. 

“I have seen other blonds,” He admits, “But, none of them have ever looked like you do.” He says it in a way that leaves Arcade slightly dumbfounded-- as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

“...Wh-What?” He stammers out, eyes widened as he looks the other man up and down, finally shaking himself out of it as he leans away from his touch. “What does that even _mean?”_ He asks thereafter, glancing away again as he raises a hand to his cheek. He presses his lips together in a thin line when he feels how warm to the touch he is, trying to shake off the intimidated feeling still caging his chest. It feels too difficult to catch his breath. “If you’re trying to call me ugly, then your execution is a bit _tasteless.”_ He drawls, speaking just under his breath. It’s an attempt to lighten the mood-- a knee jerk reaction of his-- but, the tension of the moment has sunk its claws into him, and his voice wavers on the delivery.

“Not at all,” Vulpes responds, and the sincerity in his words makes it apparent he’s seen right through him, again. “Actually, my train of thought was closer to you looking almost _suspiciously_ similar to the Gods I know from my early teachings.” He continues, chin tipped down just enough to look up at Arcade through his lashes. He says it boldly, lips just slightly quirking up for the split second it takes Arcade to process. 

“Oh.” Arcade fully pauses at that, the single syllable coming out embarrassingly high in his throat as he blinks owlishly down at the other man, face flushing _hot._ “Oh. Wow, I uh-- I actually don’t know how to respond to that!” He laughs then, a nervous, stuttering sound that cuts off the moment he snaps his mouth shut. Arcade is certain his face is red at the-- the compliment? Or was it just a comment? 

Christ, what is he thinking? Of _course_ that was a compliment, _holy shit!_

Arcade… is somewhat aware of the fact he’s fairly attractive on his own, sure. He’s had more than enough experiences to know that fact, and yet, being likened to _old Roman gods_ is something he’s _never_ had experience in-- especially… especially not from someone like _Vulpes._ Was this flirting? Did this technically count as flirting? Or was Vulpes just-- actually, no, when would someone like Vulpes _ever_ just say something like that? 

_Well, wait… maybe he would…?_

Vulpes’ fingers grasp his chin before his thoughts can carry on, startling him out of it as Arcade lets out a noise of surprise. He makes the mistake of looking at him again, eyes wide when Vulpes uses the grip on his chin to tilt his head to the side, seeing his pale gaze sweep down the line of his jaw, and lower.

“Uh--?” He lets out another stuttered sound at the action, heartbeat thudding painfully in his chest. Vulpes hums in acknowledgement, but otherwise looks fully, _thoroughly_ distracted by whatever it is he’s observing. Arcade can practically _feel_ the other man’s eyes on his throat, and he struggles to keep his breathing even under the weight of that look. 

“Radiant blond hair, fair skin, and a gentle disposition...” Vulpes lists, looking deep in thought. “...Apollo, is that you?” He murmurs after a beat of silence, nearly speaking to himself as his gaze trails along the soft line of Arcade’s neck, lingering there until he reaches the collar firmly laced around his throat. Arcade scarcely dares to breathe in the tense silence that follows, but then Vulpes lets go of his chin, and reaches down, gently running his finger over the edge of the leather as a look of contemplation crosses his face. 

Arcade watches his eyes flicker, taking in the details as he traces over the loops of the collar, the metal ring just at the front of it. It’s made to be leashed. Made for a kept _pet_ , and he knows Vulpes sees it, too. 

Another quiet moment falls between them.

“They’ve caged your song,” He finally breathes, and in his eyes there’s a look Arcade can’t quite place. Something close to understanding-- he thinks-- yet that realization isn’t a _peaceful_ one.  
  
Arcade can’t think of a single thing to say in response, but the lump building in his throat is a hard one to swallow.


	7. Into the Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's the disappearing for three months before suddenly updating again, for me.
> 
> Also, on an unrelated note there's an arcade cosplayer on instagram that made a post talking about this fic three months ago that I JUST happened to find by chance, and I just wanted to say, if you're reading this, im a huge fan, and I *did* spend five minutes squealing in the confines of my room when I saw that

_Breathe, and risk scaring away the moment._

Arcade sits there, frozen for who knows how long under Vulpes’ eyes, and under his touch. His pulse hammers away in his throat for what feels like an eternity, then a second passes, and Vulpes just barely tilts his head. 

So curious, that look on his face; and yet that barest hint of movement is what snaps Arcade out of his stupor. He reaches up, boldly seizing the other man’s wrist before panic flairs through him at the action. His own fleeting contact with the other man's skin is not of exploration, as Vulpes' had been- but _desperation._ Yet, as the wires in his brain feverishly overlap different directions amidst his panic, he has the sense to wonder whether it's desperation for it to end, or _continue._

He hesitates on that knife's edge for several seconds, just gripping the other man’s wrist. Dare he ask himself-- does he _want_ to push it away?

How long has it been since the last time someone touched him without the intent to harm? To belittle? How long has it been since someone allowed _him_ to set the pace? 

When he struggles to recall, he realizes the answer is too long. _Far_ too long. 

Yet, Vulpes does that exact thing. He doesn't react to Arcade's touch in any particular way-- Doesn’t flinch, or furrow his brows in anger-- even when Arcade’s fingers flex against him, tightening in his quiet uncertainty. Slowly, he dares to tug that hand away from him, severing the warm touch where it began. 

“Don’t…” Arcade struggles to find his words. _Breathe in, breathe out._ “Don’t do that.” 

There’s a sick, heavy feeling brewing in his stomach. A mixture of terror and frustration that makes him want to lay down, and press his palms to his eyelids in an attempt to blot out the world around him. It’s unsteady, and too warm to be comfortable, sweltering the skin underneath his collar.

_‘They’ve caged your song’_

He lets out another shaky breath, looking away from the other man again before he pushes himself to stand, quickly smoothing out his shirt as he avoids eye-contact entirely. 

“You-- I--” He lets out a frustrated noise as he closes his eyes. What does he want to say here? What _can_ he even say? What could possibly articulate the difficult emotions he’s feeling brew underneath the surface? What would Vulpes _understand?_ “Ruh- _Regardless_ of who or-- or _what_ I am, you realize _you_ are _also_ one of the one’s ‘caging me’, so to speak?” He quickly says, stumbling over his words. It’s _not_ the right thing to say, but he doesn’t know what _would_ be. He doesn’t have the slightest idea what might clue the other man in on the way he’s feeling. Though, the irony is not lost on him-- the fact he can only think to respond _at all_ while his eyes are closed, and he no longer has to confront the other man’s frigid stare. No; truthfully Arcade finds it is _much_ easier to speak with Vulpes in general, when he doesn’t have to look at him. 

"Doctor..." the other man says, and his voice has that quiet, low tone that makes his pulse quicken, beating wildly in his throat. 

"No." He cuts Vulpes off before he can continue. "Don't... Don't say _anything_ right now. I already have enough to- to _freak out_ over." He says, and perhaps his words would be more humorous, were they an exaggeration.   
"I'm going to go and... and make breakfast,” He decides then and there, taking another deep breath to try and calm himself. “And I’m going to clear my head if at all possible. Please, for the love of god, act... act _normal,_ when I come back?" He nearly pleads with the other man, an unmistakable note of vulnerability in his voice. 

He doesn’t dare to look directly at Vulpes again, yet the sight of the man turning his head towards him more, even out of the corner of his eye, is enough to fuel the anxiety in his chest. 

He feels like an utter fool. 

"Alright." Is all Vulpes says, and it's the quiet, soft quality of his voice that makes Arcade all too eager to get out of the room, thereafter. He has all the confirmation he needs, and a conflicted feeling in his stomach to go with it as he finally departs. 

-

He finds himself in the kitchen within a handful of seconds, yet it’s still not quick enough to escape the panic he’d left behind in the other room. The minute he steps inside he finds himself folding over on one of the counters, covering his neck with his hands as if trying to protect himself from a physical threat, rather than a mental one.

 _Technically, it is physical._ That unwanted voice in the back of his head pipes up. _Vulpes is just in the other room, after all..._

He tunes out the thought, heart feeling lodged within his throat. He scarcely dares to even _breathe_ too loud, as if his body is subconsciously reverting back to his _'hide = survive'_ mentality without so much as a warning. His hands rake through thick strands of hair as he tries to calm himself, hoping to contain the nervous breakdown trying to simmer under the surface with the pseudo-soothing action. Surely it would be a long time coming if he allowed himself to-- he’s been putting off a breakdown for the better part of a year, now, after all-- and that’s not even _Vulpes’_ fault.

 _Oh, but plenty of other things are._ He thinks scathingly, vividly thinking back to the other man’s petting touches, and too-intense observation. All of this, and yet it's only one question still steadily permeating his mind.   
  


_What was that?_ _  
  
_

Arcade lets out a quiet breath, fingers flexing between wavy blond strands. You would think, especially after already being in the Legion for so long, that he might be over asking ‘what the deal’ is. Frankly, it’s unfortunate that he's _not._ But, then again, he's never accounted for _Vulpes_ being part of the mix. 

In the last year or so, his concerns were more revolved around _survival_ . Around understanding the people he had to deal with on a daily basis, and knowing his way around them-- namely, _Caesar_ took precedence over anyone else. It’s an infuriating fact, but Arcade knows the man better than most-- possibly better than _anyone,_ and yet that didn't exactly prepare a person for dealing with the radically different members of the Legion, themselves. That was _including_ Vulpes.

He has to wonder, is the other man always like this? Is he always so cryptic... so vague, and watchful? Perhaps it's a symptom of boredom, or him trying to cope with his situation? Maybe he's going stir crazy from being stuck in the same room, when he knows Vulpes must be used to moving around? 

Or... is it that he simply doesn't know any other way to act?

_‘Apollo, is that you?'_

Arcade slowly raises a hand to his face once he regains his footing, finding his skin warm to the touch, likely pink. Is he actually _flustered_ by the comparison…?

Truly, the things Vulpes had said to him in that moment rivaled some of the sweetest love poems he could remember-- likening him to the old world gods from his childhood teachings, cupping his face as he did so. He’d tenderly brushed his hair out of the way to rest his knuckles against his forehead, and declared his beauty with the action-- or, he may as well have. 

It had to be on purpose, surely. No man would be so unknowingly _tender_ in a world like this. No man would touch, and demand closeness-- no man would even _imply_ the same kind of blasphemous comparisons, the way Vulpes had done for him. 

Arcade wants to smack himself, abruptly, and very, _very_ hard. He wants to fill the sink with ice-cold water and dunk his head inside until his sense has returned to him. There's a war criminal in the other room, and yet he's sitting here warm in the face because he feels _flattered._ Is it really so easy to erase his wrongdoings in Arcade's mind, so long as he continues to sing those praises...?

 _Overt flattery does many things._ He angrily thinks, _But it does not erase a lack of humanity._

 _...Well,_ The tiny voice in the back of his head butts in, _He doesn’t act very inhumane, for a supposed monster._

He groans out loud, clenching his eyes shut as his mind continues on without him. _And since when has the word ‘war criminal’ made itself so big and bad? You realize you yourself are technically a war criminal as well, right?_

Okay. _Regardless_ of misgiven titles, that doesn't mean Vulpes _isn't_ still an evil, evil man. 

_Although, do you really know?_ That grating voice returns to plant a seed of doubt in his mind, making Arcade’s hands curl into fists against the countertop as he wills it to just _be quiet,_ already. 

_After all,_ It begins again in spite of his wishes, only growing in volume with its refusal to be silenced. _You know the Legion beats people until they fit into their mold. It’s the system that creates these evils, these ‘monsters’... Are you really sure Vulpes is the evil one, in this equation?_

Finally, Arcade pauses heavily, and abruptly at that. It wouldn’t take a genius to recognize the danger in travelling down that school of thought. Treating _Vulpes_ and the _Legion_ as if they are separate entities is an idea that splits morals into a sliding scale, rather than the few shades of white and black _most_ people are forced to contend with understanding. Arcade doesn't want to _humanize_ him-- not anymore than he already has, at least-- but it would also be against his own morals if he just... turned a blind eye to the circumstance, right? Yet... If he can't even say with certainty that Vulpes is evil, then… then what would that mean? What would that mean in regards to everything he's done? How could Arcade even consider the mere _notion_ of such a thing, when facing the list of atrocities the other man has committed? Perhaps it is as simple as them _both_ being evil; both the system, and Vulpes, himself. 

That makes sense. By all accounts, that _makes sense,_ and yet Arcade can't help the squirming bit of doubt in his mind, and the discomfort turning in the pit of his stomach. What if it's not even a matter that's meant to be considered, in the first place? What if, against everything else he knows, Arcade is truly just _not meant_ to decide it for himself?

His breathing threatens to pick up again, and finally, he shakes his head to snap himself out of it. He can't afford to lose his cool right now, and at this rate he'll be teetering on the edge of sanity within the hour. Spending all this time thinking on morals in a place like this will surely kill him.   
  


Perhaps this is his mind's way of coping with the situation, trying to make the horrible, evil people he's forced to interact with redeemable-- surely that must be it, right? Arcade has to hope that's all it is, because he doesn't think he'd be able to stomach any other option.

He swallows heavily again thereafter, trying to steel himself as he looks up, glancing around the rest of the kitchen restlessly. Now is not the time to waste precious minutes holding back a breakdown, he needs to make breakfast. Or, at least, he needs to _start_ on it, before he traps himself in another vicious cycle. Who knows, it might even make him feel better. 

\- 

Arcade returns a while later, possibly ten, twenty minutes or so, and Vulpes is exactly where he left him-- of course he is. He quietly accepts the plate of food Arcade passes his way, needing no invitation to begin eating as Arcade sits by his hip. 

The silence is a mercy; a small one, and yet Arcade can’t help but feel frustrated by his appreciation of it.   
  


Several minutes pass as Arcade pushes the food around his plate, soaking up the quiet between them as he nibbles off his fork. Despite his best efforts, he’d continued overthinking while he was cooking. Though, in doing so he’d stumbled upon a particular thought: Perhaps getting to know the other man would help him. If he can just cast away that carefully constructed air of mystery, maybe see it all through Vulpes’ eyes... then maybe that will tell him what he wants to know. Maybe it will help shine some light on the moral dilemma he’s been facing these last couple of weeks; or, if nothing else, it might at least solidify his hatred. At this point all he really wants is to just _understand._ He’s _tired_ of the constant debating with himself, the constant questioning of his morals-- he knows very well that asking may not help, or change anything, but it’s _got_ to be better than not trying at all. 

He sucks in a deep breath, eyes fluttering shut as he steels himself.

“Tell me about Nipton.” He says in a breath, shoulders laced with tension. He holds himself as if Vulpes may as well have had a gun pointed right at him. Even with his decision carved in stone, actually _asking_ still feels like a death sentence, and it’s only after he speaks that he realizes it’s the first thing he’s said since he re-entered the room. 

_Why am I doing this?_ He thinks, forcing his eyes open to peer back at the other man. Vulpes is looking back at him when he does, his eyebrow lifted in a rare show of emotion. Clearly he _wants_ Arcade to know he’s surprised. 

“...What is there to say?” He asks after a beat, appearing to have considered the request already, if the tone in his voice was anything to go by. “You already know of what transpired, I assume...” He trails off thereafter, as if trying to prompt Arcade into explaining himself. 

He lets out a quiet sigh as he glances away again, figuring he probably should have expected this. It sounds like an odd request even to his own ears, and to Vulpes, it must seem entirely out of place. “I do.” Arcade replies, regrettably, “But, a lot is still left in the dark...” He tries to rephrase his request, and yet Vulpes seems even more puzzled by it, now. 

“Why Nipton, in particular?” He asks after a moment, lifting a piece of fruit to his lips as he does. "It is a small, insignificant place compared to the Legion's achievements, now." He continues, sliding the slice of mutfruit into his mouth thereafter. Arcade pauses, trying to grasp for his reasoning as he watches the other man eat. Does he tell Vulpes the whole truth, or deflect? It should be a simple answer, really-- knowing the other man... there _is_ no real point in trying to hide it. He'll probably just see right through anything Arcade says, regardless. 

"I... I want to understand why you did it." There’s a stiff silence that follows his words, and his eyes lower back down to his own plate as his brows furrow, pushing his food around without actually moving to eat any more. "I suppose it's an inherently selfish request, now that I think about it. But, I... I just can't figure out where you fall on the scale of _my_ morals. I can't tell if you're actually as horrible as I thought-- and _continue_ to tell myself you are-- or if you just..." He trails off.

 _'If you_ _just' what? 'If you just don't know anything different?'_ He winces at that thought. There’s no way that _that_ would go over well. Even if Vulpes didn't care, it didn't take a rocket scientist to know he shouldn't inadvertently _insult_ the other man. 

He glances up again, finding Vulpes watching him. His pale eyes are keenly focused, expecting Arcade to continue. "U-Um... I just don't know, uh, anything about _you,_ I guess is my point." He stammers, feeling as though he was an awkward teenager all over again, rather than the thirty-six year old man he _actually_ is. 

Vulpes' eyes narrow slightly, then. Just barely noticeable as he looks Arcade over, eyes flickering down in silent observation. Arcade wants to shrink away from him, feeling stifled, and uncomfortable as one of his hands raise up, absentmindedly brushing against the collar around his throat in a protective gesture. _This was a mistake._ He thinks. 

"You know objective truths," Vulpes finally responds, once his gaze sweeps back upwards to return to the other man’s face. "But I suppose I could... _indulge_ you, still." Vulpes continues on thereafter, and Arcade sucks in a quiet breath, bewildered by his words. "Your job is to aid me in recovering for however long that may take. If you desire to... _know me_ … in the meantime, then I suppose that is a reasonable request." Arcade's eyebrows raise towards his hairline at that, unable to hide his surprise. Vulpes says it as though he is uncertain, as if unfamiliar with the concept of such a thing. 

"Is... Is this one of those 'eye for an eye' ideals? Do you think you _owe_ this sort of thing to me?" He asks next, and, incredibly enough, Vulpes _smiles_ at him, just barely.

"You ask as if it is some great, personal sacrifice, Doctor..." Vulpes trails off, and his pale eyes glint with mirth. "Asking questions is something you've been doing from the start." 

Arcade feels himself flush with warmth at the other man’s words, realizing that, perhaps Vulpes is not entirely wrong, at that. “Well excuse me, mister _Legion spy.”_ He huffs out, looking away again as he tries to will the pinkness out of his cheeks. “Not all of us are masters at… subtly extracting information out of people. Some of us like to be _polite.”_

So much for not inadvertently insulting him. Arcade winces again when he realizes, and yet when he chances a glance back at Vulpes, the other man is still smiling, as if Arcade had said something particularly amusing. 

“Of course, Medicus.” He smoothly replies, and perhaps the fact he doesn’t mention it is _worse._

_Even feeling insufferable is better than this embarrassment…_ He thinks to himself, biting his lower lip as he grasps the common sense to close his eyes. Is it truly so easy for the other man to just… remain unbothered? Does _anything_ get under his skin?

“I’m half-convinced you aren’t actually human, at this point.” He blurts out, along a similar vein to his thoughts. “I-I mean, does nothing get to you? Usually at this point I’d at least have been called _annoying,_ surely…” He begins to babble, feeling a rush of nervousness spike in his chest when silence threatens to stretch on. 

Vulpes, infuriatingly enough, sounds utterly unperturbed just as always. “I don’t find you annoying.” He says instead, and it makes Arcade groan aloud, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“No, that’s-- actually, whatever. This… This was supposed to be about me getting to know you, asking you things…” He tries to re-align the conversation before it escapes entirely, cursing his thoughts for moving too rapidly, and getting him off track. He needs to _focus,_ and yet his nerves still remain frazzled, just like they have been for the _entire day,_ at this point.

Sucking in a deep breath once more, he tries to smooth down his ruffled feathers a bit, putting a cap on the nervous urge inside of his chest trying to persuade him to just _keep talking._

A few disturbingly quiet moments pass before he opens his eyes again, feeling a little more steady as he turns his head, looking back over at Vulpes. 

The other man is watching him intently, only raising an eyebrow when Arcade meets his eyes again. “That is correct.” Is all Vulpes says at first, seemingly ignoring the other man’s tension-- possibly out of politeness, or possibly to make him squirm-- Arcade can’t tell. “Ask what you wish of me,” He continues after a beat, eyes half-lidded.

There’s not a threat lying under his tone. Arcade doesn’t feel any danger, or malice there, and yet something about it… Something about having it _offered_ to him is different. He doesn’t know whether it’s the fact Vulpes is willing enough _to_ offer, or that Vulpes _trusts_ him enough to do so, but both of those thoughts feel like foreign territory. It’s hard to imagine either circumstance, and yet at least one of them must be the reality, right?

“R-Right. So.” Arcade clears his throat, nibbling at his lower lip as he considers what he _really_ wants to ask the man, now that there’s no need for sugar coating. “...Nipton. I… I still want to hear your thoughts.” He says, after a bit of consideration. He speaks slowly, as if uncertain of himself-- and he _is--_ though, it feels like a good starting point. The right direction, if nothing else. 

Vulpes nods in understanding, and now it’s his turn to glance away. His head turns, and his pale eyes stare out to a random point in front of him, appearing to gather his thoughts. 

He’d been right, earlier. Nipton _is_ quite small in comparison to all the Legion’s other ‘accomplishments’ nowadays. It’s small, insignificant to many-- but perhaps that’s just what Arcade needs. Talking about something so much bigger than the two of them would be less personal, too broad, too generalized-- Nipton is something closely related to _Vulpes,_ at least in Arcade’s mind. It might tell him more about the other man to hear his thoughts on it, and even if that doesn’t end up being the case, it’ll still give Arcade _something_ to work with. 

“Nipton… was a worthy sacrifice. Necessity, even.” Vulpes’ voice catches his attention, his pale eyes cast to the side as though he was trying to frame his thoughts in the proper order-- like an old stack of cards needing to be re-organized. “It was a wicked place, built to destroy itself-- and _willing_ to do so, even before I ever stepped foot within it.” 

There, _right there._ A dark affection hides itself in Vulpes’ tone, low and muted, yet Arcade can still feel it. It makes a cold chill sweep the nape of his neck, and he resists the urge to raise his hand to his throat again, understanding the vulnerability that comes with such an action. Perhaps it’s just his nerves, but Arcade doesn’t want to risk letting blood into the water. He’d like to avoid looking like _prey._

“What was it a sacrifice _for?”_ He asks afterwards, immediately regretting it when Vulpes turns to look at him again, for it. Those piercing eyes quiet anything else he might have continued with as soon as they meet his own-- intentionally, or not. 

“The greater good.” The response comes easily, and yet it’s so surprising Arcade fights the urge to laugh. It isn’t a hard fight to win, however, considering the ice still overcoming Vulpes’ expression. “More than anything, it was a warning.” 

“Oh.” Arcade pauses. Any emotion that had been rising within him swiftly cut down at that single sentence, now replaced with pure surprise, instead. “A… A warning?” He questions, and his tone comes out much more wary than it had been a few moments ago. What sort of warning would the Legion ever need to send? Why would they provide _any_ sort of ‘warning’ if they wanted to keep their advantage? Especially considering the timeline… Warning the NCR of their presence that far west would have been a horrible idea, would it not have? 

_Maybe not._ His thoughts quickly backpedal, upon seeing the way Vulpes is staring at him. He feels like whatever mask he’s trying to wear over his own emotions may as well be transparent, now. It’s obvious the other man sees right through him. 

“Yes.” Vulpes states, “It served to show others what would become of them, if their desires remained self-serving.” He continues on. “Nipton is the age-old tale of creation, from destruction.”

Arcade’s eyebrows raise once more, and he only remembers the plate of food in his lap when Vulpes moves to set his aside, opting to follow the other man’s lead as he moves his to the nightstand as well. He doubts he’ll be peckish any time soon. 

“If you’re curious as to why _I_ did it,” Vulpes speaks again, wincing just slightly as he sits up a bit further against the pillows. “--It was because Caesar required it.” He finishes, lifting a hand to rest over his injured ribs. His deadpan tone nearly gives Arcade whiplash. 

“I-I’m sorry, _what?”_ He sputters out, eyebrows furrowing in disbelief. “But wait, what does that _mean?_ I-- I thought you said you did it for the greater good?” He presses, leaning in closer to the other man. Vulpes’ lips twitch upwards in a smile again, and his gaze drifts to the side. 

“Yes, the act of _purging_ Nipton was for the greater good.” He agrees, “But my involvement was not guaranteed; not until Caesar requested it, of course.” He clarifies himself, and Arcade feels his thoughts lagging behind as he tries to process the implications of that. 

“Wait. But…” He pauses, struggling to find his words. “...Nipton was your idea, wasn’t it?” He asks next, finding himself more confused than he’d started. He’d been so certain...

“Nipton was considered a point of interest long before _I_ ever set foot in it, and the lottery within was merely an idea; timeless, pre-war, even.” He hums, gaze sliding to the side as he speaks. “I suppose it could be considered mine, in this circumstance, but my actions are the will of Caesar-- my achievements are his. There is no difference.” 

Arcade stares, silently absorbing the other man’s words. Apparently the quiet lasts long enough for Vulpes to turn back towards him, peering at him curiously, as if entirely unaware as to why Arcade might look so phased. 

“...You're gawking, Medicus.” Vulpes notes, eyes flickering down in a way that makes Arcade realize his mouth is open, quite literally agape before he clicks it shut, again. 

“S-Sorry.” He stammers out, a bit breathless as he glances away. His heart feels lodged in his throat, too caught up in the other man’s words to even consider that he might be overthinking it. 

_That can’t be true._ His thoughts whisper, one hand braced around his throat before he can think to stop himself. 

It’s not possible. It’s _not_ possible, but the more Arcade considers it, the more he’s confronted with the fact that Vulpes has _no reason_ to lie to him about this. It’s not like Arcade could possibly use the information against him, not like Arcade even has the _option_ \-- so then, what reason would he have to be dishonest? He’d even said it himself-- Nipton was _insignificant_ to him, and to the Legion. What reason is there to lie about it?

Arcade’s fingers twitch.

There _is_ no reason, because Vulpes is telling the truth. 

The lottery wasn’t even his idea. _Nipton_ wasn’t even his idea-- Not on his own, and not the way Arcade had been convinced it was, anyways. He doesn’t even consider what he did there, nor any other ‘achievement’ of his as _his own_ in the first place. It’s all… it’s _all_ for Caesar. Everything he does, and everything he _is_. 

_It’s all for Caesar, isn’t it?_

“Medicus?” Arcade is forced to resurface from his thoughts as Vulpes calls to him, looking down to see the other man’s hand grasping his arm. “You’ve gone white.” Vulpes tells him, and yet his words come out distant, as if Arcade had sunk underwater. 

“Searchlight.” He blurts out next, shocking himself with how harsh his voice sounds, even to his own ears. Vulpes pauses as well at the outburst, raising his eyebrows. “What… What about Searchlight? Was _that_ your idea?” 

He feels possessed, like his mouth is moving without him. His thoughts feel utterly frozen, and for the first time his mind isn’t racing-- instead, it’s entirely silent. He knows he’s been overloaded at this point, he _knows_ asking more will only make it worse, and yet he’s powerless to stop himself. There’s too much to ruminate on, too much to think about, and as poorly as he slept last night, he knows tonight will be even worse. 

_Does he even realize he’s his own person?_ Arcade feverishly thinks, eyes flickering down the line of Vulpes’ body as he tries, and fails to keep up with himself. _Does he believe his existence is only for others? Have I just been blind to this, for all this time?_

“I think that’s enough questions for now, Doctor.” Vulpes tells him, speaking quicker than before as he tightens his hold on the other man’s arm. “Come here.” He urges, and the concern is his tone makes Arcade realize he’s begun to hyperventilate. 

“No, no--” He shakes his head, breathing stuttering. He tries to tug himself away from that grip, and yet he’s utterly powerless to stop him as Vulpes pulls him closer. 

“Lie down. Your sweating…” Vulpes speaks quietly, and his concern earlier this morning seems to have been well placed, because Arcade surely _does_ feel ill, right about now. He doesn’t even have the energy to _try_ and fight the other man again, thoughts too blurred together to do anything except for what he’s told. 

_Fuck._

Vulpes guides him to lay down beside him, and Arcade’s head hits the cool pillow in an instant, eyes staring up at the ceiling as they move without his permission, making him feel dizzy, and disoriented. Somewhere along the way he realizes his hand is intertwined with Vulpes’, and he squeezes it harshly, closing his eyes with a thankful gasp as the gesture is returned, giving him something to grapple on to. 

“I-I’m sorry, I--” Vulpes shushes him before he can begin babbling and stumbling over himself. 

“No apologies. Just speak to me, Doctor.” The words come out a warm whisper far too close to his ear, and Arcade sucks in a shuddering breath, dimly aware that he’s trying to _comfort_ him in some way. 

“I’m having a panic attack.” Is the first thing he can think to say, realizing in some muted part of himself that Vulpes probably had no earthly idea how to help him, or even what was wrong with him in the first place. “Probably because I wasn’t prepared for… any of that, but I’m stubborn and I asked anyways, even though I knew I wouldn’t like the answer regardless. I’m--” He catches himself before he can apologize again, letting out a ragged breath instead as he keeps his eyes clenched shut. “And I… I have to ask you another question, just for the sake of my own sanity.” He continues on, feeling as though it might be the only rational decision to make, here. He needs a thought-- _one_ thought-- to cling to, if only to drag himself out of this strange, emotional sinkhole he’s fallen into. He needs to calm down, needs something to grab onto, to anchor himself on solid ground while his own thoughts turn into mush around him. 

“What is it, Medicus?” Vulpes asks him, voice still whisper-soft as Arcade gets the nerve to open his eyes. He looks up at the other man then, feeling almost _pained_ at the expression of concern so clearly written across Vulpes’ features.

Breathe in, breathe out. 

“Do… Do _you_ consider yourself a bad person, Vulpes?” He finally asks, feeling so terrifyingly _mortal_ in that fleeting moment, even as everything around them feels like it comes to a stop. Arcade can’t even look away from him, even though he _desperately_ wants to. 

Vulpes pauses at the question. He hesitates, still gripping onto Arcade’s hand as his eyebrows draw into a furrow, slowly, _so_ slowly. It’s too still, _too silent--_ Arcade feels like a great, cavernous void is opening up beneath him, just waiting to swallow him whole the longer the silence continues. 

There’s something so human within that look on Vulpes’ face, something so unknowable, _unreachable_ , as the other man continues to stare into his eyes. Arcade is abruptly aware of his own place in the universe-- how large the world is, and the fact he and Vulpes are merely a spec within it. It’s as though he’s passed into the eye of the storm now, where all of his thoughts, all of his earlier panic, is frighteningly silent now. He feels like he’s above the clouds, looking down at himself, and all of his strife and anguish that’s been building up for the last year is like a sweeping flood beneath him. 

His thoughts upon morals, his hours wasted away, feverishly asking himself what his own place upon the scale would be if he dared to allow himself _comfort..._

Here, looking up at Vulpes now, he realizes this man is one of the very few that has been kind-- no, _considerate_ of him, even-- in this circumstance. For all of Arcade’s hostility, all of his distancing, and posturing, and questioning, this man has never acted as though Arcade _owed_ him kindness, or submission, or pain…

 _Please._ He wants to beg him, to seize him by the arms and plead for an escape. _Please, I don’t want to make myself hunt for an answer, anymore._ He squeezes Vulpes’ hand again, and then another time after that. 

_Please. Just tell me the truth._

Vulpes’ lips part, eyes flickering over Arcade’s expression in the quietness of the bedroom. 

“I…I’m sorry, Arcade.” He apologizes in a breath, and it’s the first time he can recall the other man ever using his name like this, rather than a title. Doctor. _Medicus._ His heart feels as though it may fall into his stomach. 

“I don’t know.”  
  


Perhaps Arcade would have been able to take, and accept that answer on it’s own. Perhaps he would have been perfectly fine, and it would have given him the opportunity to get a hold of himself, regardless. 

But, there’s something in Vulpes’ tone. Something so genuinely _sorry,_ as if he can see right into him-- As if he knows what his lack of an answer means to Arcade. 

“Oh, god.” He breathes out, closing his eyes once again as a painful swell of emotion invades his chest, leaving his eyes watering behind his eyelids. Futilely, he squeezes Vulpes’ hand again, and the other man allows him. 

_Daisy,_ He thinks to himself in that moment, wishing to every knowable god and back that she could hear him. _I’m sorry._


	8. The People's Physician

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Holidays to all!! I finally took the time to go back and re-edit all the chapters up to now, and it single handedly added 7,000 words to the fic in its entirety, as well as took me almost a full month to pull off. If we're doing the math, that means technically this upload is still meeting my quota! (Don't fact check me on that)  
> Thank you all so much for the support and love, and if you enjoy this chapter please leave me a comment! they really inspire me to continue
> 
> On a separate, more important note, though, I appreciate the patience you guys have given me with these updates, but I would just like to say one thing: Please don't leave a comment /only/ pressuring me to update. I understand and appreciate the desire to continue reading, but I do have a life outside of writing and almost all of these chapters are 7,000+ words, and I'm writing and editing them entirely by myself. It takes a lot of work and I do it for free because I love this fic, and I love you guys, but that is a LOT of writing, and editing considering I tend to read through two to three times before posting each chapter. I don't want anyone to feel guilty for leaving these comments in the past, and I don't need any apologies for it, but just please be mindful in the future, Thank you!

When Arcade opens his eyes, the world is slow to return to him.

This isn’t his room, though. He’s certain of it. All it takes to confirm that fact is a quick turn of his head, where he sees there, on the nightstand are two plates. Both are from this morning. 

He’s still in Vulpes’ room. 

Slowly, he raises his hand up, rubbing his face to try and wipe the sleepiness from his eyes. It's only when the blurry world refuses to come into focus that he notices his glasses have gone missing. Though, strangely, he isn't panicked by that thought as much as he ought to be. Perhaps it's the fog of sleep still surrounding him, but this... _calmness_ is foreign; unfamiliar. As if he couldn’t panic if he _wanted_ to. He’s not quite sure, but he thinks he feels alright-- possibly even _better_ than before-- how long had he slept, again? 

Arcade turns his head against the pillow with a stifled yawn, considering sitting up before he sucks in a quiet breath of surprise, finding Vulpes lying _right there_ next to him, a mere few inches from his face. He looks relaxed. Peaceful. His eyes are closed, and he’s half-turned onto his side to face Arcade-- as if he’d fallen asleep watching over him. 

_How did we end up like this?_ He quietly thinks, brought back to his senses by the sight of the other man’s sleeping figure. He turns away again to press the heel of his palms against his eyes, trying to recall. 

_Earlier... What happened earlier...?_

The slew of memories that follow that question come slowly, making his temples pulse with the beginnings of a headache. Earlier… He’d had a panic attack, a _bad_ one, and his memories surrounding it are still fuzzy, muted; but there are still echoes of it left behind, where his throat aches and his eyes itch with irritation. The depth of his feelings in that moment still elude him, yet, in the back of his mind is the memory of Vulpes’ hand intertwined with his, the soft tone of his voice trying to urge Arcade to do… to do _something._ What had he said…?

Arcade shakes his head, letting out a quiet groan as he thumps back against the pillow. He can’t remember. 

_I should get up._

Fabric shifts beside him, and he turns back to look at Vulpes again, eyeing the other man’s sleeping face in the soft silence. There’s been many moments over these last few weeks where he’s gotten to see Vulpes this way, but never this _close._ Even without his glasses he can see the gentle curve of his cheekbones, the dark, full eyelashes fluttered against pale skin... The bruises from before have mostly healed over by now, as well as that nasty scrape along his jaw. All it leaves behind is smooth, unblemished skin, looking pale and soft in the warm light. 

He looks more like himself again, and yet, at the same time, he seems like a fraction of the man Arcade remembers from the Strip, all that time ago... 

As if subconsciously aware he’s the subject of the other man’s thoughts, Vulpes’ eyes slowly flutter open. Pale blue half-moons across Arcade’s blurred vision. He wakes slowly, leisurely, with one hand running along the soft bed sheets as he tilts his head, freeing his mouth from the pillow it was pressed against. 

“Medicus?” Is the first thing he says, voice a warm and sleepy murmur. “Are you alright?” 

He asks as if it’s the only thing on his mind, and Arcade blinks at him. Before he comes up with an answer he turns his head to look back up at the ceiling, wondering the same thing himself. _Is_ he alright? He doesn’t _feel_ like he’s panicking anymore, at least; and yet the utter calm he feels in its place is _also_ unnatural to him. Would it be a lie to say ‘yes’ if he can’t actually tell? 

Vulpes shifts again, and Arcade feels the other man’s hand seek him out over the covers. His palm blankets the back of Arcade’s hand slowly, digits curling into the space between his fingers. His skin is warm, almost hot in comparison. 

Arcade doesn’t think to stop him. 

“...I think I will be.” He answers after a bit of consideration, whisper-soft. He wants to believe it. 

Vulpes brushes his thumb over his skin, and it’s as though the single touch is a tether, pulling him further into the present one moment at a time. It's only when he feels the other man's calf brushing against him as well that Arcade realizes their positioning, finding himself confronted by the strange parody of an embrace the both of them are tangled up in. 

Arcade turns his head to face him fully, his own half-lidded gaze meeting Vulpes’. They’re close, nearly touching. All it would take is for Vulpes to lean in just a fraction further, and...

_I need to get up._

“...Where are my glasses?” Arcade asks, quickly pushing that other thought out of reach. There are other things he should be focusing on right now-- like getting out of Vulpes’ bed, for starters. The time of day is still a mystery to him, and he should probably eat something-- christ, he’s not even sure how long he’s been _sleeping._ He needs to be checking over his faculties, not daydreaming about the proximity. 

Vulpes lets out a breath beside him, and his pale eyes widen just a little, seeming to recall the answer to his question. He turns his head down towards his legs, pulling his hand away from Arcade’s to reach just behind his hip, out of his view. 

It’s something so unbelievably small, but his hand feels colder when Vulpes pulls away. Discomfort squirms up his spine at the thought. 

_Stop daydreaming. Get up._

“I assumed it would be uncomfortable to sleep in them.” Vulpes explains, taking that urging thought away with the wind as he raises his hand once more, holding up a familiar pair of black frames. Quietly, Arcade takes them, realizing Vulpes probably couldn’t reach the nightstand with him in the way. He settles them back over his nose. “Apologies if they are bent, I hadn’t anticipated falling asleep as well...” Vulpes glances away while Arcade blinks, trying to adjust to the sudden crispness of the world around him. Upon processing the other man’s apology, he runs his fingers along the sides of his glasses in observation, finding them no worse for wear.

“No, no. They’re fine.” He quickly assures him, turning his head back towards Vulpes as the other man’s eyes flicker up to him. “...Thank you, for keeping them safe.” He slowly follows up, shifting to push himself up onto his elbows. 

A small smile twitches at the corner of Vulpes’ lips, and he attempts to sit up as well, bracing a hand under himself before a wince crosses his features, a barely-there pinch to his brow. He parts his lips as if to speak, and then his teeth click together, jaw clenching, and eyes widening.

Vulpes freezes up. 

Arcade freezes as well, watching the other man’s expression with widened eyes himself. The other man’s gaze quickly goes glassy, and Arcade looks down to see his hands clenched into fists against the sheets. 

_Oh._

His body is completely rigid, chest straining, and eyes screwing shut before he bares his teeth, letting out a low growl as his hand jerks down, covering his injured hip. 

_Oh shit._

“Fuck, I forgot to check your injuries--” Arcade gasps out, all but tumbling off of the mattress in his haste to stand. All at once that light, perpetual calm is gone from his senses, replaced with stone-cold alarm, and panic flooding through his system. His legs feel like jelly underneath him, and he catches a hand against the nightstand as he stumbles, flinching at the sound of dishware clattering together. 

Quickly, he regains his footing before turning back towards Vulpes, hands raising to his chest uselessly while he tries to decide what to do. Vulpes looks _pained_ , eyes tightly shut as he grasps his hip with both hands. A harsh breath escapes him, and he tips his chin down with furrowed eyebrows, face quickly beginning to flush pink from exertion. 

“Okay, okay.” Arcade tries to stall his nerves, “Vulpes, you still hear me?” He comes back in towards the edge of the bed, reaching down to rest his hand over both of the other man’s, still covering his hip. “I’m going to go get some Med-x, alright? Take deep breaths, and try to relax if you can.” He instructs, trying rapidly to make the switch back into physician-mode as he pulls away. Vulpes-- quite obviously-- doesn’t respond to him, and Arcade doesn’t linger around regardless.

His footsteps are loud and rushed as he hurries to the bathroom, unable to help his own heart hammering away in the base of his throat as he ducks down, throwing open the cabinet under the sink. The door hits the side of the wall too loudly, and his nerves snap at him to hurry up, _hurry up._ He can hear the sound of Vulpes’ laborious breathing from here, muffled and gasping. 

Despite that prominent urgency, he knows better than to fumble around with needles. He picks up a fresh dose, and wets a cloth with cool water before hurrying straight back. 

“Vulpes?” He calls out, pushing one hand off of the door frame as he heads back inside. The other man has shifted in the few seconds Arcade was gone, now laying flat with one hand resting over his forehead, and the other slack against his stomach as it rises and falls with his breathing. He’s panting harshly, yet his eyes flicker open at the sound of Arcade’s voice. A good sign.

Quickly, he moves to sit at the edge of the mattress, rumpling the sheets as he grasps Vulpes’ hand by the wrist, pulling it closer. He wipes down the inside of his arm with the damp cloth, and then lets Vulpes take it for himself. He uncaps the Med-x while the other man presses the rag to his forehead, letting out a rough sound as the needle slides under his skin. His muscles are tense and rigid under Arcade’s touch, straining from pain. He _knows_ a needle probably doesn’t feel much better, but there’s nothing else he can do for it.

 _You got careless._ His thoughts echo, rattling around his skull too loudly to be ignored as he works. _Your one and only job is to take care of him, and you let yourself be distracted from it._

He pulls the needle out too quickly, blood welling up from the injection site. He blames his hands, wanting to tremble with anxiety, and presses the cuff of his sleeve to the spot in place of a tissue-- he forgot to grab any. 

_What if he has an infection? What if the injuries have worsened? What if this time, it’s something you can’t actually fix?_

He ignores that voice trying desperately to make him panic more, instead reaching out with his free hand to rest it over Vulpes’ chest. The heartbeat under his fingers is subtle, but fast. 

_So careless._

“Vulpes…?” There is guilt in his voice, in his throat, in his chest… He’s _worried._ So soon after things between them began to shift, and Arcade had let his mind wander too far. He’d gotten too raveled up in _himself,_ in his thoughts, his feelings… What he _should_ have been paying attention to was Vulpes. Ironic, then, that the other man was distracting him from… well, _him,_ at the same time.

 _But that’s no excuse._ He tells himself, pressing his lips into a thin line. _This is my fault, and my fault alone._

Vulpes lets out a quiet groan then, shivering as he opens his eyes. He peers up at Arcade with a dazed expression that makes his heart hurt, yet his hand moves down, covering Arcade’s with his touch. His skin is cool from the dampened cloth he’d been holding, and Arcade feels another sharp pang of guilt in his chest. 

_“Doctor.”_ Vulpes speaks. His voice comes out jagged and breathless, but despite the pain written in his expression, his lips flicker upwards. 

He’s _smiling._

Arcade’s lips part, just slightly, feeling the other man squeeze his hand. He turns it over to wrap his fingers around Vulpes’ wrist, trying to return the offer of comfort. This is something he remembers-- Vulpes holding his hand, giving Arcade something physical to cling to while his thoughts had crumbled around him. It had been a rope, a lifeline, something to remind him of the world outside of his mind, when he couldn’t do it for himself. 

He pulls his hand back, and intertwines their fingers instead, gently squeezing. 

“It’ll pass.” Arcade tells him, speaking softly in reassurance. “It’ll pass, and then…” He trails off, uncertain of what to continue with. And then what? He’ll check his injuries? He’ll run him a bath? He’ll make more food? Likely all three, yet those aren’t things that will offer Vulpes much comfort. The last thing someone in pain wants to do is get jostled around further, and he’s sure the other man isn’t in a rush to eat anything, either.

Vulpes shifts his other arm, pulling away from Arcade’s sleeve to reach around, and cup the back of his neck. It all but yanks him out of his mindless, rambling thoughts, and he looks down to Vulpes’ eyes again, face flushing warmly as he’s caught between worry and… something else. A different feeling; one he refuses to name. 

“Stop.” 

That single word, spoken quiet, and crackling like the embers of wood, is enough to make Arcade pause. 

He waits, hanging off that single syllable as Vulpes closes his eyes again, breathing in deep, and with difficulty. 

“It’s… alright.” He speaks, and the strain in his voice makes it difficult to believe him, but Arcade tries. “Don’t panic.” His pale eyes flutter open, thumb swiping across the nape of his neck before he pulls his hand away, letting it fall to rest over his stomach. 

Something about that is so, _so_ _uniquely_ endearing, and it feels like a shock to his system when his lips curve up on their own. A small, watery laugh escapes him. 

“I should by saying that to _you.”_ Arcade says, raising his free hand to rest over his mouth. Vulpes, telling him not to worry when _he’s_ the injured one, when _he’s_ the one in pain. Vulpes, who has been so patient, and understanding with him this entire time, even when Arcade has done nothing of the sort for _him--_ Vulpes, who allowed him to be angry, to be sad-- to be _human,_ in a way no one else has for this last year of _hell._

His eyes are watering before he can stop himself, and he raises his hand higher to try and wipe them dry. 

_He’s done terrible things._ He thinks to himself, sniffling as he presses his sleeve to his eye, sending his glasses askew. _But... maybe…_

Arcade sucks in a shuddering breath as he fixes his frames, looking down at Vulpes before reaching for him, and resting his free hand over the other man’s bicep. 

_Do I dare to hope?_ Vulpes is watching him, lips just barely parted to show a glimmer of teeth. _Do I dare to think he can change?_

The burst of feeling that thought ignites in his chest is terrifying, and bright, and _real._ This is the closest he’s felt to being _himself_ again in a long, _long_ time, and Arcade is almost afraid to believe it. He’s so unbelievably afraid, thinking about having _hope_ again. It’s one of those things he used to cling to, and having it ripped away from him was a feeling he still hasn’t forgotten. Opening himself up to that is at the risk of so much more than just his heart-- he doesn’t think he could _take_ having to mourn for himself a second time. 

_Is it worth the risk?_

Vulpes squeezes his hand. 

“You smiled.” He breathes, sounding… better. Lighter than before. He looks awed, and though he knows Vulpes has seen him _smile_ before, he supposes it was nothing quite like this. Arcade lets his lips curve upwards again, transforming into a wide grin that crinkles his eyes at the corners.

“I feel… good.” He admits, speaking in a quiet murmur, as though it was a secret for only the two of them. 

Vulpes remains quiet at that, not letting go of Arcade’s hand. It seems like the Med-x has begun to work it’s magic, though, because Vulpes seems a lot more relaxed now, looking up at him with half-lidded eyes. It’s almost like he’s marvelling at him, as if he knows the severity of this quiet moment between them. 

_Something has shifted._

Arcade wishes that he could hold off from hoping, he wishes he could pull back on the reigns and say _‘Wait, it’s not been long enough to know for sure,’_ but that long-buried part of himself all but springs up from the soil, eagerly grasping for any twig, any sprout-- any sign of life. It’s taking almost all of his willpower as is to just keep his thoughts at bay, before they have the chance to run wild, and take him with them. 

“I… I need to check your injuries.” He says in an exhale, pushing himself up to sit on his knees instead. “And I need to figure out what day it is-- But that comes later.” He jokes, feeling a genuine lightness in his chest when Vulpes’ lips twitch up further. He looks tired, yet pleased at the same time. “Can you, uh, describe what kind of pain that was?” Arcade follows up in question, quickly slipping his hand out of the other man’s in order to start loosening the bandages around his hip. He’ll worry about the minor things later, but right now the _only_ thing he needs to pay attention to, is _Vulpes._

-

Soon enough he has the other man’s injuries all cleaned up, thankfully with none of them looking too worse for wear in the end. Seems the issue was more about timing than anything; Med-x wearing off, plus him moving incorrectly made for an _incredibly_ painful muscle cramp, from what he can tell. Regardless, Arcade is grateful it’s nothing _worse._ He’ll gladly take the mental slap on the wrist, and use it as a reminder to not lose sight of what he’s even _here for_ in the first place.

After bandaging the other man up he takes to cleaning off the nightstand for him, stopping by the window to check where the sun is in the sky on his way to the kitchen. Seems like he’d slept for a few hours, or, at least until the evening, if the pink and orange skyline is anything to go by. That’s likely to be another reason for why he feels better, too. He’s been due for a good nap for the better part of a _year,_ at this point. 

_Sleep is actually good. A shocking discovery, I know._ He dryly thinks, slipping into the kitchen shortly after. He disposes of the contents left on his plate from this morning, finding them stale and unappetizing. There’s no reason to make himself force it down, either, considering food isn’t exactly in short supply around these parts.

 _I ought to pick up some more groceries._ He thinks, setting the plates in the sink.

  
He makes dinner after that. It’s a standard affair, one he doesn’t spend much time on. He opts to just throw a few vegetables on a plate with some leftover gecko meat, and calls it there. It’s fast, it’s easy, and it’s something he doesn’t have to overthink before making the trek back to Vulpes’ room. 

The both of them are hungry, but Arcade wolfs his food down much faster, and blames it on the fact he’d skipped breakfast when he sets his plate aside. 

“You want me to run a bath for you, after you’re finished?” He asks, chasing the question with a sip of water as he watches Vulpes lift a chunk of carrot to his mouth. The other man lets out a soft hum, and his eyes briefly shut as he seems to consider it. 

“I think I’d rather wait.” A brief pause, then he looks up at Arcade, “You just replaced these bandages.” 

Arcade rests the tip of the bottle against his bottom lip, feeling water clinging to the rim of it. “Are you saying that because you don’t want to put my efforts to waste, or is this you just not feeling up to it?” He questions, eyes narrowing a little mistrustfully as he staves off the blush wanting to bloom across his cheeks. Vulpes’ lips twitch up just a little. 

“I’m not eager to get in the water, Doctor.” He says, a hint of apology in his words, “But yes, it also seems a bit wasteful.” He concedes, closing his eyes before popping the bite of carrot into his mouth. Arcade pulls the bottle away, and sets it back in his lap with a little sigh. 

“Suppose I--” He pauses, and so does Vulpes at the sound of… knocking. At the front door. 

Arcade’s head turns, looking to it in quiet surprise from the open doorway. Vulpes seems similarly alert, eyes slightly widened as he falls still. If the other man had animal ears, he can almost imagine them perked straight up, listening. 

“It’s Lucius.” He says after a few beats of silence, turning his eyes back to Arcade. 

“Wh-- How do you know that?” He quickly whispers, immediately uncertain as to why he’s decided to whisper in the first place. Vulpes cocks his head to the side in uncertainty as well, as if he’s puzzled by Arcade’s confusion. 

“It stopped.” He points out, pale eyes flickering back to the door, as if expecting Arcade to follow his gaze. Obligingly, he does so. “Lucius knocks three times, and no more. Another person would have continued by now.” He explains that as if he thinks it’s _normal,_ and Arcade furrows his brows incredulously, the absurdity of Vulpes’ words drawing his eyes back to him. 

“Don’t tell me you’ve seriously memorized his _knock--”_ Arcade begins, sounding utterly disbelieving before Vulpes holds up his hand. He clicks his mouth shut in compliance, pursing his lips in irritation at the unspoken _‘shush’_ from the other man. 

“...Aren’t you going to answer it?” Vulpes asks, cutting his disbelief, and irritation short. 

“Oh. Oh-- right. Sure?” Arcade stammers, quickly moving to stand from the edge of the mattress as Vulpes watches him, looking quietly amused, and bewildered at the same time. Arcade doesn’t doubt the other man must be questioning his priorities right about now, but he honestly can’t imagine what Lucius would be here _for_ at this time of day-- it’s nearly dark outside. 

He straightens his shirt out on his way to the door, making his strides long and quick to make up for the few moments he’d spent going back and forth with Vulpes. The knob refuses to budge when he grips it, and he quickly remembers locking it the night before. So, with the grace of a newborn calf, he fumbles the lock and finally opens it, quickly straightening up as he finds it is, indeed, Lucius on the other side. 

_How the hell would you memorize a person by their knock?_

Arcade clears his throat, quietly taking the other man in. Lucius looks… comfortable. He’s dressed down quite a bit from how Arcade remembers seeing him in the past-- lacking the fancy Praetorian armor he recalls him usually wearing. 

And, he supposes it must be cool outside at this time of day, given the sweater.

“Lucius.” Arcade nods, uncertain of what might be considered a proper greeting in this circumstance. _Ave? Salve?_ Is he expected to keep it formal?

“Arcade.” Lucius responds with a nod of his own. “Apologies, is this a bad time?” He questions, holding his arm up to reveal a small basket Arcade hadn’t noticed in his brief once-over. There’s a faded, red checkered cloth covering whatever’s inside. _A gift?_

“Ah… No? I-- I suppose not. Vulpes is just… eating dinner.” He responds, a touch awkwardly. He’s not really sure of how to proceed around Lucius right now-- they’ve had their fair share of moments butting heads, but the other man is not outright _insufferable,_ if nothing else. 

_Suppose I ought to just be careful?_ He muses. It’d probably be best to avoid antagonizing the other man. 

“Ah, I’m glad to hear he _is_ awake, after all.” Lucius responds, a hint of a smile drawing to his lips. It’s at that moment Arcade realizes; almost no one is likely to know Vulpes _has_ been awake. Caesar might suspect as much, but no one but Arcade has been around him to confirm it. Did Lucius just come here on a whim?

“Yes, he’s uh. He’s doing well. Are you here to see him?” Arcade finally finds the common sense to step aside, and let the other man in as he asks. Lucius quickly passes him by, leaving him to shut the door behind him. 

“I am here to check in, yes.” He responds, turning on his heel to look up at Arcade once more. “I’ve also brought a gift, as I’m sure you can tell. Come here.” He tilts his head towards the kitchen in gesture, moving inside to set the basket down on the counter. He lifts the checkered fabric up, and Arcade moves to stand at his side, tilting his head with a bit of a grimace at the sight of… well.

“That’s. Raw meat?” He tries to mask his confusion, but Lucius looks up at him with clear amusement glinting in his eyes.

“A few prime cuts of brahmin, Doctor.” He explains, sounding like that of a parent amused by their child's naivety. Arcade feels his face flush a little, not fond of the comparison.

“Right. Right. Um, why, exactly?” He questions next, trying to keep ahold of his dignity as Lucius looks back down to the basket, smiling warmly as he brackets it with his hands. 

“He is a man, is he not?” He replies easily, shrugging his shoulders as if that was explanation enough, “I don’t expect someone as… _delicate_ as you to understand which cuts off a brahmin are better than others, but this is a hardy cut, and it’s fresh.” Arcade struggles not to huff at the other man’s comments-- it doesn’t seem like Lucius is trying to insult him, but he certainly skirts around calling him _‘delicate’_ enough to make it feel that way. 

_‘Delicate’_ _My ass._ He wants to grumble. _I’ve preformed brain surgery and this man still thinks I’m too stupid to pick out a good steak._

“How very kind of you.” He says blandly, letting his words soak up as much sarcasm as he possibly can while he eyes the other man. Lucius seems unperturbed, or perhaps unaware of this sentiment; he must be in high spirits today, because he’s snapped at Arcade for using such tones before. 

“Don’t look so ruffled! This will put some hair on his chest-- and possibly yours too, if you would like.” He says lightly, slapping a hand on Arcade’s shoulder a bit too hard to be comfortable. He offers the other man another grimace. 

“I am _quite_ satisfied with the amount of hair on my chest, thank you very much.” Which is almost none, but _Lucius_ doesn’t need to know that. “I’m sure Vulpes will… appreciate it.” Legion men are so _weird._ Is this a thing? Is it social custom to bring a hunk of meat to one of your injured comrades, and Arcade is just out of the loop? 

Despite his inner ramblings, Lucius seems pleased with his response. He moves to re-cover the few slabs in the basket before lifting it, and moving to put it in the fridge for him. Well, at least that was thoughtful of him. Now all Arcade needs is to learn how he’s expected to _cook_ it. Loathe as he is to admit it, Lucius is right about him not having much expertise. 

_I still know how to pick a good steak._ He stubbornly thinks. _I’m just not as familiar with brahmin anatomy as I am with human anatomy-- Which is perfectly acceptable for a physician! A people-physician!_

Regardless, he isn’t about to be bested by a piece of meat. Cooking a steak is _simple._ His capabilities extend much further than that. The most he’ll do is, maybe, _possibly_ ask Vulpes for advice. Which says nothing about him and his delicate-ness, whatsoever. 

Lucius dusts his hands off once he closes the fridge, and moves to rinse them in the sink. That much Arcade can appreciate. “Now then, am I allowed to speak with him?” the other man asks, drying his hands with the dish towel laid over the stovetop. The question strikes Arcade as strange, and very quickly his thoughts about brahmin anatomy are forgotten as he realizes, oh, this is actually _his_ decision _._

He could very well tell Lucius no, and the other man would have to merely respect that, given the circumstance; it’s a very real drop of power that he has no idea what to do with, as he meets the other man’s eyes. 

_I could just say no, couldn’t I?_ He hums softly, making a show of thinking on it. 

Realistically, yes, he could do that, but… why would he, at the same time? All things considered he finds Lucius quite insufferable, but the man is certainly not as terrible to be around as some of the rest-- Arcade might have even liked him, had the whole _‘being enslaved and kept as a power-hungry tyrants pet confidant’_ wasn’t at play. 

Also, Vulpes memorized his _knocking_ habits. 

Arcade’s not sure if that’s a good, or bad thing. It’s a thing Vulpes could have done out of extreme dislike, or merely convenience, but he’d asked Arcade to answer the door, so he would bet the former is _not_ the case…

...And he brought Vulpes a _gift._

“...Okay, yes. Sure.” He sighs, finally answering. _What’s the worst that could happen?_

His mind screeches to a halt. That thought, that question; it smacks him clean in the face as soon as he thinks it. How long has it been since he ever wondered such a thing? It almost feels… _wrong,_ like a perverse parody. Actually, _all_ of this feels odd. This is probably the most civil interaction he’s ever had with Lucius, and this is probably the most civil he’s _felt_ in nearly a year, yet so easily is he slipping back into his old cadence from a life before… this. 

Is he getting too comfortable too quickly? Is he just that eager for any semblance of normalcy? Or, is this the beginning of him finally giving in?

 _No. Nothing like that._ He thinks feverishly, eyes darting off to the side. _This is just… easier than before._

“Excellent.” Lucius’ voice drags Arcade out of his thoughts by the ankle, and he looks down at the other man, quickly masking his expression of uncertainty. “You will join us, I assume?” He asks, and Arcade has a difficult time deciding on that one. 

_Well, I’ve successfully made myself feel weird again._ He rubs his knuckles with one hand. “I suppose I could…” He trails off, blotting out that little voice in the back of his mind, again. “Is there some specific reason you need to talk to him?” He continues on, shaking his head a little to try and focus on the present, instead of the conflicting thoughts beginning to rattle around under the surface. 

He… he feels better, after having that moment of realization with Vulpes-- understanding it could be _possible_ for him to find some sort of redemption with a push in the right direction-- but at the same time, that neglected, optimistic part of himself is now having to fight with the cold, harsh cynicism he’s taken to surviving on since his enslavement. A battle of _‘no relenting’_ versus _‘letting things be’_ that makes it hard to figure out what he thinks is the right thing to feel. 

But. 

Maybe there _is_ no ‘right thing’ to be feeling. Maybe the idea of comfort turning into compliance is… not as full proof as he thought, because when he thinks about it, he still hates the Legion as much as he ever has-- possibly even _more_ now. Actually, this is the most comfortable he’s felt in a while, and yet he feels more like himself than ever. That little flicker of hope he’s been given feels like it’s only made him _more_ eager to change things, rather than settle for less. 

“Doctor?” Lucius’ voice taps on the glass, startling him into looking up again. “Are you alright? You look… hazy.” Lucius gestures to his face in emphasis, and Arcade pushes his glasses up higher on his nose. 

“Oh, yes-- yes, I’m fine. Just… thinking harder than I should be.” He shakes his head again to clear it, turning his full attention back to the other man. “What were you saying...?” He sheepishly asks, raking a hand through his hair. 

“I said I was only here to check in, Doctor.” He repeats himself, and Arcade sucks in a quiet breath. 

_Right. He’s here to check on Vulpes, just like he said earlier. Why else would he be here?_ He reminds himself, shaking off the strange feeling from before to shift back into some semblance of this new... _normalcy._

“Should I have scheduled an appointment?” Lucius says _that_ with amusement, raising an eyebrow up at Arcade as if trying to parse what exactly was wrong with him. _That obvious, huh?_

“Oh-- no, no. It’s uh, it’s perfectly fine to come by.” He stammers over his words a bit, clasping his hands together as he turns his gaze away, towards Vulpes’ bedroom door. “I’m sure Vulpes, um… won’t mind the company?” He continues, voice pitching higher at the end to match his uncertainty at the proclamation. Lucius watches him with that same expression, one hand on his hip.

“Of course, Doctor.” He responds knowingly, pushing past him to head back out of the kitchen. Arcade watches him, lingering behind for a moment before he hears the other man speak again, surprised by the now-booming sound of his voice as he calls out from the living room. _“Salve, salve! Quid agis, puer?”_

_Hello, hello! How are you doing, boy?_

He speaks with… affection. There is warmth in his tone, and Arcade rounds the corner to chase after it when Vulpes lets out a sound-- a small, barely-audible _laugh._

He sees Lucius’ back in the door frame when he reaches the living room, but the other man is still moving, heading farther in as Arcade stops short at the entrance to Vulpes’ room, watching Lucius seat himself right where he himself had been, not but a few minutes prior. The older man lifts his arms as if to go in for a hug, but he quickly pauses, and reigns himself back before he can pull Vulpes in, obviously thinking better of it. Arcade is thankful for that fact-- he would rather not have to step in and break up what’s clearly an... important moment, from the looks of it.

He can’t see the expression on Lucius’ face, but _Vulpes_ is smiling. Though he gives Lucius an apologetic look when the other man forgoes giving him a hug, a soft curve is still tugging at the corners of his lips.

 _“Vivus sum…”_ Vulpes responds, sounding mellowed in comparison. Arcade is not privy to how close the two of them are, but it’s no small surprise to see them talking so… warmly. With care. _I’m alive._ Vulpes says, offering his hand to the other man. His pale eyes flicker up, briefly meeting Arcade’s, and it pulls him further into the moment; he can’t help but feel like he’s stepped into a different time-- a different _life._

A life that is significantly easier than the one he’s been living. 

He bites his lower lip, and then offers Vulpes a small smile, leaning his shoulder against the doorframe. 

_This should be fine._ He thinks to himself, watching Lucius reach out in turn, and take Vulpes’ offered hand in both of his own. Arcade can take the small respite. He can let himself rest, maybe think just a little bit less than he has been in a long, _long_ time. 

_At least, for a little while._ He tells himself.


End file.
